Making Her Own Way
by Lady Muck
Summary: Set some 20 years after Lady Knight, this is the tale of a girl who didn't want to be a mage or a warrior, but whose ambition might prove equally challenging to attain. Epic political saga with random humorous interjections. Better than average OC! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Making Her Own Way

Chapter 1

Lady Illinen of Shadowflax snapped the heavy, leather-bound book shut with a sigh, and, propping her elbows on the library table, rested her head in her hands. She glanced down at the book, raising her eyebrows cynically at the bold, gilt lettering on the cover. It was a book of modern Tortallan heroes, or, to be more precise, modern Tortallan _female_ heroes. Alanna the Lioness, the Protector of the Small, Daine the Wildmage, Alianne of Pirates Swoop…. these women were inspirational! Hundreds of girls from across the realm, noble born and common alike, had followed in their footsteps, but unfortunately, they weren't providing any kind of inspiration for Illa right now.

It had been three weeks since her tutor had declared that he could teach her no more, and since then, Illa had spent most of her time in Fief Shadowflax's vast library, working her way through books such as this one, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. As yet, she had come to no definitive conclusion. She was too old to begin knight training, and anyway, she had small liking for the strenuous activities involved, like the rest of her kinsmen, she had no magical gift, so mage training was out of the question, and one of her worst fears was of becoming a flirty, air-headed court maiden. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be very many other options.

Illa picked up the book and placed it back on the shelf, while scanning for something new. Nothing seemed to catch her eye, so in an act of desperation, she shut her eyes and waved her arms wildly in front of her, swearing that she would read the first volume she touched. She groaned as she dragged out an enormous old tome of Tortallan law, but honourably sat down in her father's reading chair to fulfil her promise. Illa was certain that she would be wasting away an otherwise lovely afternoon, but somehow she was sucked in from the very first page, drawn to the complexities that held her country together, and filled with fascination for those who coordinated them. Suddenly, she had an idea.

It was many hours before she closed the book, and still many more before Duke Arthur of Shadowflax came across the pensive form of his oldest child sitting motionless in his library chair.

'A copper for your thoughts?' He asked gently, swinging the chair around so that she was facing him. 'Although,' he chuckled, 'I'd pay a lot more if the look on your face is anything to go by!'

'Papa!' Illinen jumped up to embrace him, 'You're back!' Duke Arthur was Treasurer to the realm, and therefore spent a lot of his time in Corus talking trade and finance with King Jonathon and his government. But with the advent of the warmer weather, the Royal family had relocated to their summer palace, leaving the Duke free to return home as well.

'I'd noticed,' he smiled, looking her up and down.

At sixteen, Illa was really a young woman, and a stunning one at that. She wasn't beautiful, exactly, at least not in the traditional 'court-lady' sense of the word, but she had a certain elegance that was hard to place. She was tall and sturdily built like her father (a genetic inheritance she often cursed, especially when in the company of someone slender and petite), with glowing olive skin, thick, wavy brown hair, large brown-hazel eyes with curling black lashes, a small nose and a full-lipped rosebud mouth. Rather a sweet face on the whole, but still, some of its contours betrayed the fact that Illinen of Shadowflax was a force to be reckoned with. For the most unusual thing about her was that she spoke and acted with a degree of force and authority that one didn't really expect to find in a nobly born and educated maiden. She was fiercely intelligent, a natural leader (sometimes to the point of bossiness), an incredibly logical thinker, and unfortunately, often quite argumentative and nearly always stubborn as a mule, to the point where the duke despaired of ever marrying her off. Which, as luck would have it, wasn't his goal, anyway. He felt sure that his daughter was destined to be something more than the lady of the manor, and he was about to find out exactly what it was.

Suddenly, he realised she was speaking to him. He raised a hand to stem the flow of her words.

'All right, all right, I'm listening now. Start again.' She sighed impatiently.

'I was just saying that I had a think about it this afternoon, and I've finally decided what I'm going to do next.' The Duke nodded, remembering the letter that had told him of her tutor's departure. He'd been expecting this conversation.

'So, what of the future for Lady Illa,' he asked lightly, steeling himself for what he was almost certain would be a shocking revelation. His daughter didn't let him down. She drew herself up to her full height and thrust out her chin, a familiar determined look coming into her eyes as she proclaimed:

'I am going to become the Prime Minister.'


	2. Chapter 2

Illinen was sitting on a cool garden bench, contemplating her father's reaction, when someone plopped down beside her. Illa turned and smiled at her younger sister Izmae. The blonde, freckled girl was wearing a loose shirt and breeches, and positively dripping with sweat.

'I beat Raif with the practise swords again,' she reported gleefully, naming their brother, who was home for the holidays between his second and third years of page training.

'Honestly, I don't know how we're ever going to make a knight out of that boy,' she added in a more matronly tone. Illa smiled again; she knew that Izmae was living for the day when she would be old enough to go to Corus and join the Queen's Riders. For fourteen-year-old Iz, that day was only a little over a year away, and her constant enthusiasm was beginning to make her rather difficult to live with. But she was still her big sister's chief confidante.

'Iz,' Illa ventured, 'What would you say if I told you I wanted to be the next prime minister?'

'I'd say you were out of your mind,' responded Izmae cheerfully, displaying no flicker of surprise at the revelation.

'You know what those government men are like: how'd you like to end up as a stuffy, wrinkled conservative in forty years time?' Illa sniggered – the picture was not a pleasant one – but she pressed on.

'Seriously, do you think it's even worth me trying?' Izmae squeezed her sister's hand.

'I have complete confidence in you, despite the fact that you'd be the first woman even to train in politics at the university of Tortall, let alone hold a position in government. And despite the fact that the conservatives will have nothing to do with you, and no one will want their sons to court you, and you'll make more enemies than friends. And despite the fact that you _know_ people always hate politicians (ever wondered _why_ they wrinkle so fast?), and that you'll have the weight of the nation on your shoulders _if _you ever actually get there, which mathematically is a small probability. Other than that, yes, I think it's a great idea. Go for it, Illa!'

Sometimes Izmae could be rather too blunt. Illinen shoved her impertinent sibling off the bench, and then sighed.

'That's exactly what father said, and before you ask, I pushed him of his seat too!'

'But aren't you going to do it anyway?' Asked Izmae eagerly, reclaiming her position on the bench with caution.

'I don't see why not,' replied her sister. 'I've done my research, and there's nothing in the laws that says I can't. It's just the unwritten laws I have to content with. The ones which dictate that a girl my age should be at court trying to find a husband, or, more recently training to defend her country.' She laughed a trifle bitterly, but Izmae didn't join in. She was looking unusually thoughtful and solemn.

'Well, I guess I'm taking the second option,' she said, 'and I used to think that fighting for my country was the noblest career there could be. But I've just realised that I'm wrong.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I'm going to go out and fight in wars, even though on principle I disagree with them. I'm probably going to kill people, and I may end up getting killed myself.' Illa didn't like where this was going, but she held her tongue.

'But you: you have a far nobler ambition than me. You want to stop the wars before they start. To assist the crown in uniting and protecting our country and pacifying our neighbours. If you can achieve that, if you can bring peace to war-torn lands – in other words, if you can make good at this job – no one will care that you're a woman. You'll just be the great leader who saved Tortall.' At this, Illa snorted unattractively.

'I will not. Even if things come to pass as you predict, it will be His Esteemed Majesty who gets the credit, and I don't care – that's as it should be. A Prime Minister is just the chief advisor to the monarch. I've already realised that if I wanted to cover myself in glory I should have become a knight!' Both girls laughed, as they recalled the night when Raif, fresh from his first semester of page training, had come home and given them an incredibly solemn and serious lecture on the topic 'A knights job is not all glory.'

Eventually Izmae took up the thread of conversation again.

'You know, before, when I was going on about the conservatives and all that claptrap? Well, maybe I was being a little over-dramatic.'

'Understatement of the century,' muttered Illa under her breath.

'No, really,' went on Iz, 'Tortall's come a long way in the last fifty years or so, and it's not like you're becoming a knight. You don't have to… you know, _give up_ being a girl, or anything.' She squeezed Illa's hand again.

'All you have to do is show them that you can do it as well as any man, and then you'll most likely change this realm for the better.'

'Have you ever thought about giving up on the Riders and turning motivational speaker?' Asked Illa with a grin.

'Giving up on the Riders?' Iz was scandalized, and immediately thrown out of her philosophical mood. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Raif's distant voice was heard calling Izmae's name. She leapt to her feet and picked up a wooden practise sword that Illa had not noticed until now.

'Well, another round beckons,' she said, before extending a hand to her older sister.

'Come and watch me beat the little sissy to a pulp.'

'Poor dear,' said Illa, her lips twitching, as she rose to follow Izmae, 'He must have been traumatized when the training masters told him he had to give up being a girl!'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

'So, as you can see, Your Majesty, Gentlemen,' explained the Right Honourable Illinen of Shadowflax, Prime Minister of the Realm of Tortall, 'It would be unthinkable for us to blindly accept the shady policies of the Carthakis on this matter. If we truly intend to represent our people to the best of our abilities, we must make an alternative stand, we must make it for the good of Tortall, and we must make it _now_!'

The line of maids sitting atop the travelling trunk applauded politely, as their young mistress swept herself into an extravagant bow. Her manner, however, quickly changed from pompous to desperate as the maids began to rise.

'No, don't go!' She cried. 'Please, sit back down. I can't shut the damn thing unless there are at least four of you sitting on it!' A thin woman entered the room chuckling, but to Illinen's dismay, she dismissed the servants immediately.

'What are you doing, Mama?' Illa asked. 'I need to discuss my foreign policy with Elsie, the scullery maid. She'd been acting as my emissary to the kitchen!' Though Illa could see the smile playing about her mother's mouth, Duchess Abigaile still looked stern.

'And I need to discuss with you how a girl with organisational skills such as yours _and _the assistance of a veritable army of maids cannot manage to fit all her belongings into a trunk the size of a circus tent!'

'Don't blame the maids, Ma, I did all the packing myself. They were only here for our cabinet meeting. Right when you so rudely interrupted us, we were discussing our position on the new group of Carthaki stable hands. We've been doing background checks, and some of them seem to be decidedly shifty characters.'

At this, the Duchess burst into uncontained peals of laughter. In fact, the only way she seemed to be able to calm herself was by opening the trunk, whereupon she was immediately struck silent by the mind-boggling array of dresses, shoes, books, quills, underwear, toiletries and for some strange reason, jars of pickled beetroot, that had been thrown haphazardly into its interior. She groaned, but quickly became brisk again.

'Well, seeing as you're off first thing tomorrow morning and it's already late, we haven't time to repack it.' And with a display of strength remarkable in a woman of her slight stature, she slammed the lid down, and almost magically, the locks clicked into place. As Duchess Abigaile sat down on the trunk and turned to face her eldest child, her somewhat playful mood seemed to evaporate.

'Oh Illa,' she sighed, 'I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I guess I can't expect you home until the semester break at midwinter, and that's starting to seem a long way away!'

'Mother,' said Illa firmly, kneeling down and grasping the duchess by her shoulders, 'You always approved of the higher education of women – don't back out on me now!'

'I'm not backing out on you, but…'

'Mama, it'll be fine, you'll see. You know plenty of people in Corus who can keep an eye on me…. Uncle Anders lectures at the university, for heaven's sake! And Papa spends nearly half his time in the city. They won't let me get into trouble, and they won't let any trouble happen to me. And I'm going to be living in the _palace_. I know court can be a nest of vipers at times, but it's probably the best-guarded building in the eastern lands! Just relax; I can look after myself, anyhow. I'm off to claim the world as my oyster, and I don't mean to let anything stand in my way!'

Her mother was watching this passionate declaration with a small smile.

'You're like the girl I might have been, if I'd ever had the courage or the opportunity.' Then, after a short pause, she sighed again.

'I was betrothed when I was sixteen, you know.' Illa sensed that this conversation was moving into dangerous waters.

'Mama, if I'm not spoken for in ten or fifteen years, which, given my career ambitions, is quite likely, then you can have your fun trying to find me a husband,' she promised, 'but until that day, you will leave my non-existent love life alone. Wouldn't you be prouder me helping to lead this country than becoming the inconsequential wife of an inconsequential lower nobleman.' The duchess seemed to take this in the wrong way.

'Your father is not inconsequential,' she said hotly, 'and nor am I!' Illa groaned.

'That's not what I meant,' she explained, 'I only mean to say that even though I'm the eldest daughter of an old Tortallan family, I've too many brains and too much spirit for anyone of intelligence or influence to _risk_ marrying me. At least in a gods-cursed arranged marriage. I'd be left to the dregs of the nobility, the ones who are only interested in the money! I refuse to go that way. Father knows it, and he won't make me. I wish to marry, heaven help me, yes, I want a family and a home of my own, but I will not, I repeat, _will not_, marry _anyone_ unless it is on my own terms!' The duchess laughed. Illa's outburst had improved her humour again.

'Don't worry, dear, I completely understand. I'll keep my fingers out of the pie until you're at least, what, five-and-twenty?'

'Six-and-twenty, Mama!'

'You're all growing up so fast,' said the duchess with another sigh. She seemed intent on being dispirited this evening.

'Tell me about it. Only one more year and Iz will be off to Corus, too. And before you know it, dear little Raify will be a fully fledged knight, and he'll go off in a blaze of glory to rescue a captured princess, and they'll come back home to you with a gaggle of grandchildren in their wake!' This image startled a girlish giggle from the duchess. Illa, looking rather shocked, motioned for her mother to stand, and began dragging the impossibly heavy trunk out of the room.

'I'm leaving,' she said, in mock fear, 'But if your mood changes from mirthful to melancholy one more time tonight, I'm going to have to take you to Corus with me for psychological examination!' Her mother stared after her. As much as Duchess Abigaile loved her daughter, and as much as she saw elements of herself in her, she had to admit that sometimes it seemed that Illa, all her children, in fact, had come from a completely different planet than everyone else.

'I'll miss her theatrics, anyhow,' she murmured. She was startled by Illa's grinning face popping around the doorframe.

'Now, Ma,' chided the girl, 'What's politics without a bit of theatre?'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Illa stared avidly out the carriage window, feelings of excitement and expectation rising in her. Shadowflax would always be home, but the bustling city of Corus seemed to be a satisfactory alternative. As the palace, where she would be living for the duration of her studies, came into view, she began to bounce slightly in her seat, watched pityingly by her younger brother. Having lived at the palace for two whole years now, some of the novelty was starting to wear off for Raif.

'Honestly, Illa,' he said loftily, adopting an aristocratically bored expression, 'I don't see what all the fuss is about, it's not like you've never been here before.' But just then, they passed the court stables, and Raif began to bounce in his seat, too.

'Look, Illa, there's the stables, that's where Midge lives, and the other horses. And see that training yard over there, that's where I beat Eamon of Woodbridge with live swords the week before the holidays. Oh, and look behind it… that's the pages' wing. You can see my room! Three floors up and five windows across from the right!'

'Honestly, Raif,' said Illa, snootily tilting her nose skywards, 'It's not like you've never been here before!' Just then, the carriage pulled up before the gates, and the siblings tumbled out amid gales of laughter.

While Raif and one of the menservants took his trunk and set off, with a hasty goodbye, towards his rooms, Illa received a tap on the shoulder. She spun around, and found herself confronted by a very familiar wide smile, set in a pale, heart shaped face surrounded by long, golden brown hair, that was almost never pinned up properly. Illa let out a squeal as she recognised her best childhood friend, and hurried to wrap her in a tight hug. Liesel of Kettlewreath was from a neighbouring fief to Shadowflax, and as children, she and Illa had hardly spent a day apart. They had seen less of each other in the last few years, as the Baron of Kettlewreath had declared that Liesel would attend a convent school in Corus, while Duke Arthur had allowed Illa to be tutored at home, and learn etiquette and social arts from her mother. They had exchanged letters every week, though, and absence had never tested the ties of friendship.

'I can't believe you've finally made it here!' Liesel exclaimed. 'Even with all your talk, I wasn't entirely sure if you would decide to come and study after all!' She took Illa by the hand and began leading her away.

'Come up to my room, we can get something to drink, and wait there until they have your quarters ready.'

'You have a room at the palace?'

'Well, not really, but my family has apartments here, and it's still another week until term begins at the blasted convent.'

'You don't like it, then?'

'Difficult question,' Liesel paused for a moment, 'I guess the idea is all well and good: to have young girls educated together to fit them for society, but I just find most of what they teach unbelievably shallow. I mean, we learn how to, let me see, umm, use a fan to ones advantage when flirting, how to, er, fasten a corset to exhibit one's bosom to the greatest effect, and my own personal favourite: how to politely decline an invitation to dance with a man who in all honesty one finds extremely attractive and charming but whose family does not have quite enough money to suit one's father!' Illa could not keep a straight face.

'As long as they've taught you how to walk down a ballroom staircase wearing three inch heels and a hooped skirt, it will all have been worth it,' she laughed, recalling a disastrous incident at a Shadowflax party the summer before. At this moment, they arrived in the Kettlewreath quarters, and were quickly ushered to the sitting room by a maid bearing a teapot and a plate of biscuits.

'Need you remind me of all my past discrepancies?' asked Liesel, and the girls dissolved into laughter together.

'So, tell me all about your wondrous plan to single-handedly take over the realm,' Liesel demanded, once all the tea and a vast majority of the biscuits had been consumed.

'There's really not that much to tell,' Illa replied, 'I've been enrolled in political studies at the Royal University. It's a three-year course, and I'll see where things take me after that. I know where I want them to take me, of course, but one can never be certain.'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll get there in the end,' said Liesel cheerfully, 'Personally, I just can't wait for the day when I get to tell someone that when I was a little girl I used to have mud-fights with Prime Minister!'

In bygone days, Illa and Liesel had perfected the art of idle chatter, and the years didn't seem to have robbed them of that talent. The afternoon turned all too quickly into evening, and just as they were finishing a light dinner, a maid came under instruction to 'escort Lady Illinen to her new quarters.' With Liesel in tow, they made their way around several corners and up two flights of stairs, until they reached a highly polished wooden door. The maid handed Illa a small, brass key.

'It's all yours, Milady,' she said, and hurried off without waiting to be thanked. Feeling slightly apprehensive, Illa turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, to reveal a modestly yet tastefully decorated sitting room. Further exploration revealed a bedroom, a dressing room with a bathtub and a privy, and a study complete with several shelves full of useful books.

'It's perfect,' breathed Illa, 'How much luckier could I get?'

'Well,' responded Liesel, 'you could have the pleasure of my delightful company at any time of day or night.' Illa giggled.

'Yes, come and visit whenever you like,' she said, 'the only thing better than having a place of your own is having friends to share it with!'

'And with that, Madam Prime Minister,' said Liesel, bowing herself out of the room with a flourish, 'I bid you goodnight.'


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

In a luxuriously furnished office deep within the bowels of the Royal University, Lady Illinen of Shadowflax was fighting the first of her battles. And term hadn't even started yet.

'It's not that I don't want you to study here,' Harailt of Aili, the Dean of the University was saying.

'Anyway, it's not as if I could stop you, even if I wished to. I just want to know your motives. You've made a most unusual choice, and I'd like to know why you've done it.' He looked somewhat agitated, and suddenly, Illa realised why. She smiled kindly at the older man.

'Don't worry, Sir. I'm not a feminist. I see no need to be, as I'm certain that deep down, you men already know that we're ten times better than you at whatever we do!' He looked startled, but smiled slightly.

'My wife's been telling me that every day for thirty years. I think she'd like you,' he said. Illa stilled her own smile, and went on.

'Seriously, I'm not here just because no girl has ever done this before. That would be stupid, and only _reinforce_ the belief that women don't belong in politics. I'm here because I feel that this is the career path I am best equipped for. I know the fact that I am female will make things more difficult, and I certainly wish that were not the case, but I assure you, I intend to go into politics for the good of all Tortallans, not just to campaign for women's rights. Sir, you can be completely confident that if I were not convinced that this was my calling, I would have thought of a much easier way to spend the next three years!' She took a deep breath.

'So, now that we have ascertained that I really am an aspiring politician and not a woman on the warpath, could we get on with discussing the course of study, please?' The Dean chuckled in earnest now. He was already predicting big things for this girl's future.

'Well, basically, you will learn Tortallan and world history, Tortallan law and political structure, economy, international diplomacy, and two foreign languages of your choice. It's hard work, and, as you said, a three year course, but can I make a proposal to you?' Illa's ears pricked up.

'Some of the cabinet ministers are looking for new clerks. I know you may feel this position to be below you, but it's worth thinking about. You'll be required to work twice as hard, if you still want complete your course in three years, but you'll get some on the job experience at the same time.'

'Could I really do that?' Asked Illa, astonished.

'It would be the perfect opportunity, like having one foot in the door of the King's council chamber before I even graduate!' _Mercy on us, _thought the Dean, _she's already thinking like a politician! _ Aloud, he said,

'Well, you're more than qualified for the job, just as long as you've got the patience. Though highly educational, being a clerk, I'd have to say, is not one of your more stimulating professions.'

'I can do it,' Illa assured him, 'I need to work on my patience, anyway!'

'Very well then,' he smiled. 'The King has just appointed a new foreign minister. I will recommend you to him. Good luck, Illinen of Shadowflax. I'll be behind you all the way, and I'm pretty sure you'll find that a lot of others will be, too.' With this, he rose, and Illa, realising the meeting was over, thanked him and strode out of the office, barely concealing a grin. Once she was safely alone in the deserted corridor, she let out a whoop of exhilaration.

'Round one to me!'

Classes began the very next week. Illa, who couldn't wait to get started, and, indeed, had been chafing at the bit ever since her interview with the Dean, was the first to arrive at the start of term assembly by a good half an hour. Gradually the rest of the politics students filed into the large auditorium, laughing and joking amongst themselves, and Illa began to realise the enormity of her decision. Although she had known it all along, it was only now that it seemed to dawn on her that they were all boys, well, _men_ really. In her rose pink, lace-trimmed morning gown, Illa was beginning to feel like the proverbial petunia in the onion patch, and it wasn't an altogether pleasant feeling, especially when combined with the embarrassment of the confused glances she was receiving from her fellow scholars. She was more than a little relieved when the Head of the Politics Faculty stood up on the stage and drew the attention away from her by beginning to speak. Illa was only half listening to his drearily spoken words of welcome, but then he said something that she really couldn't ignore.

'And finally, this year we are welcoming a very special student. Lady Illinen of Shadowflax is the first woman ever to be enrolled in the politics faculty at the University of Tortall, and we are rather pleased to have her here. No doubt she will serve to remind you all that when it comes to politics, everyone has a particular gripe that they would like to see dealt with.'

This man had obviously not been talking to Harailt of Aili recently, and all at once, blood was pounding in Illa's ears. She stood up recklessly.

'Excuse me, Sir,' she said, adding extra sweetness to her voice to counteract the angry tremor threatening to reveal itself, 'Might I have permission to say something?' Before he had even managed to stutter out his answer, she was striding up the steps to the podium. Still wholly mystified, the man moved aside and Illa took his place. She looked out at her audience, drawing a kind of strange comfort from the surprised yet slightly impressed looks on their faces.

'Right,' she said, drawing a deep breath, 'First things first: I do not wish to be 'the first female student this faculty has ever had'. I'm not here as a woman, I'm here as a student, just another one of you – albeit much prettier,' this drew an appreciative chuckle from the men, 'And I wish to be treated as one of you. Contrary to what our esteemed Faculty Head has just hinted, I am not a feminist: I'm not here to try and make you see women as equals. I'm not really here to influence anyone. Surprising as it may seem, I'm not even here to find a husband.' Her audience laughed again.

'I'm here for my own education, and if, in several years time, I _am_ in a position that allows me to influence people, it will be, for the most part, because the lot of you just accepted me as another ambitious student, and let me get on with what I'm here to do. I'm willing to cut my hair and dress in breeches if that's what I need to do to be taken seriously, but I really don't think that should be necessary, and besides, I rather like my hair.' Another titter from the crowd.

'I'm sorry to have subjected you to this haranguing, but I need you to know: I'm just Illa, and I'm here for exactly the same reasons that you are.'

Unexpectedly, perhaps even somewhat reluctantly, a pattering of applause started, which soon erupted into a roar that filled the room. Immediately ashamed of her brazenness, Illa blushed profusely and hurried back to her seat.

'Short and to the point,' said the boy to her left, 'Now _that_ was a speech that would have made my father and grandfather proud.' Illa whirled around in surprise. Yes, she had asked them to accept her, but she hadn't been so confident as to suppose that anyone would actually talk to her. She stared at the boy in a state of utter confusion.

'I should probably introduce myself,' he said, holding out his hand, 'I'm Aubrey of Naxen. Registering the slightly overawed flash of recognition that had appeared in her eyes as she shook his hand, he added with a friendly smile, 'I guess you know who my father and grandfather were, then?'

'Of course,' she nodded reverently, 'Now I understand the enormity of the compliment!' Duke Gareth the Older had been a famed Prime Minister of the Realm in his day, and Gareth the Younger still held the position with much aplomb. 'Rest assured, I'll be peppering you with questions about them later, but now, please tell me, do you think I gave our dear Faculty Head a bit too much of a shock? I'm starting to think that getting up there like that wasn't the wisest thing to do.' Aubrey grinned.

'Are you kidding? He'll be delighted! I bet no first year student has shown that much promise on the first day for decades!'

'It's not like it was completely spur of the moment, though,' said Illa modestly, 'would you believe it, that's the second time this week I've had to give that speech!'

As they strolled off towards their first lesson, Illa felt that a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She might still be a crazy girl trying to achieve an impossible ambition, but at least she had a friend.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

So Illa entered in to her first classes in a rather optimistic spirit, but by the time the day was over, she wasn't so sure that the whole debacle had been such a good idea after all. All day, she had been the recipient of strange glances from her fellow students, be they curious, hostile, or even somewhat lecherous, and whispering had followed wherever she went. She was certain now that standing up and making a song and dance out of things, as she had, had been most unwise. It may have gained her one friend and ally, but it had done nothing towards establishing her reputation as 'just another student', and she mentally scolded herself for letting her temper get away with her without considering the possible consequences.

The reactions of the students, she had been expecting, but she was somewhat shocked by the attitude of the lecturers towards her. Every time she raised a hand (which, Illa being Illa, was at least twice a minute), they ignored her, looking right through her as though she was invisible. Even if she thrust her hand up as high as I could go, waved it slightly, and drummed the knuckles of her other hand loudly on her desk, they ignored her. Truth be told, they probably still would have ignored her if she had been standing half naked on her chair, banging a saucepan with a wooden spoon and twirling a hula-hoop around her hips! Just once, Aubrey voiced a loud protestation at this treatment, only to be told by an irate history master that having a family history of brilliance in the field did not give one license to instruct one's superiors on how to do their jobs, at which reprimand Aubrey subsided, glowering, into mutinous silence. Illa tried desperately to ignore it all, continuing to raise a hand every time a question was asked. In addition to this, her free hand flew across the page, as she busied her self by taking as many notes as possible, knowing that she would probably be called upon to share them with Aubrey later, as the surly look on his face showed the conquests of King Jasson to be the farthest thing from his mind. But even for someone as academically zealous as Illa, the chiming of the final bell came as something of a relief.

At the conclusion of classes, she and Aubrey found themselves surrounded by books at a table in the vast university library, trying to start one of the many essays they had already been given. Illa, perhaps unsurprisingly, had already filled a page and a half, but the still stony-faced Aubrey was staring moodily off into space. Illa glanced up, saw his empty sheet of paper, and sighed.

'Snap out of it,' she said, clicking her fingers in front of his face to emphasise the point. This small action was enough to make him explode.

'Illa!' He practically shouted, 'How can you let them do this to you? It's not right, it's not fair, it's completely unjustified, and what's more, it's a loss to the rest of us because you know more than we do, and they won't let us hear what you have to say!' Illa brushed the compliment aside, and looked at him strangely. 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Why!?' He let out a strangled yell. 'Because they completely abused your rights as a student, and you just sat there calmly and let them do it! That's why!' Illa laughed softly.

'Oh Aubrey,' she said, 'I know my rights, probably better than you do, but after this morning's performance and it's consequences, I've worked out that the best way to get people to respect those rights is by not making a scene. Thank you for defending me back there, but what good did it do? It only got you on the history master's bad side as well, not to mention putting you in this terrible, grumpy mood. No, if I am going to earn the respect of these people, I'm going to have to do it myself. For now, I'm just going to put my head down, study hard, and let my results do the talking.' Even though she had made him feel petty and foolish, and he was now thoroughly ashamed of himself, it seemed to Aubrey that every time this girl opened her mouth, his admiration for her increased. He had just opened his own mouth to say something about this when she abruptly changed tack, and, plonking a heavy volume down on the table in front of him, said, 'There, now that you've stopped worrying about the plight of your damsel in distress, you can finally get some work done!'

'Great Mithros,' spluttered Aubrey, 'Here I was thinking that I'd left my mother safely back at Naxen, but no, I find her reincarnated in this she-devil of a taskmaster!' Ignoring his silliness, Illa said, 'you know, I've never really heard much about your mother. Is she really as bad as me?'

'Ah, the beautiful Lady Cythera,' he said, adopting a storytelling voice, 'Well, there's not so very much to tell, except that she was the only one who ever forced me to make decisions. My father was more observant. He realised early on that I couldn't actually think for myself!' Illa laughed, but Aubrey went on quickly.

'When I was ten, she gave me an ultimatum: either I could go to Corus the next year and train to become a knight, like my father, or I could wait until I was seventeen or eighteen, and then go to the university and study to become a politician, like my father. I didn't have the heart to tell her that, at ten years old, the greatest ambition I had for my future was to train turtles in a travelling circus.'

'You've _got _to be kidding,' giggled Illa.

'True as gospel,' said Aubrey solemnly, 'Anyway, her tone kind of made it clear that the turtles were a no-go, so I decided that taking the second option would mean I got more years to laze around at Naxen, less gruelling physical torture, and less likelihood of having my head sliced off like the pumpkin it is before I even reached middle age! So here I am. I could think of a lot of places I would rather be, but my mother thinks I am the model son, so it must be worth it!'

'So, what are you going to do when you're finished here, then?'

'I am going to go back to the palace, eat dinner with you, if that is agreeable, then probably write a nice long letter to the aforementioned dearest mother, detailing my enthralling first day!' Illa groaned.

'Not tonight, you numbskull, I meant what are you going to do after you've finished your course?'

'Oh, _that_,' Aubrey waved the question aside. 'Haven't a clue.' Illa asked no further questions, and they worked in silence for a few more minutes, until Aubrey suddenly rose. 'Well, I really don't believe I'm going to get much of this done now, so I think I might just go. Coming?' He extended a hand to Illa, who grabbed it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

'What about dinner, then?' he asked, as they strolled away.

'Yes,' she replied with a smile, 'Yes, I think that might be _very_ agreeable.'


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The chimes of the palace bell broke Illa's concentration as she looked up from the page of phrases she was supposed to be translating into Yamani. Suddenly, she remembered what that bell signified, and the letter she had received the letter from the Dean last night. '_The new foreign minister has accepted your application and wishes to meet you. Please present yourself at his quarters by the second bell after breakfast tomorrow.'_

Illa let out a shriek. She had become totally engrossed in the translation, and had completely forgotten about the meeting, as was evidenced by the fact that she was still wearing only a nightdress, with her hands covered in ink and her hair resembling nothing so much as a birds nest. Quickly rising, she cast her papers aside, flung herself into the first dress she came across, and became so involved in the battle to tame her hair that she completely forgot to scrub the ink off her hands. In the end, she arrived at the minister's quarters only ten minutes late, though still looking as though she had passed through several small tornadoes on the way there. Drawing a deep breath and adopting a more dignified posture, she rapped three times on the door, thinking how strange it was that she didn't even know this man's name. The Dean had neglected to tell her, and, for some strange reason, no one else in the palace had seemed to know, either. As she knocked once more, the door swung open, and the man who stood in the doorway shocked Illa right out of her carefully rehearsed dignity.

He couldn't have been more than five years older than Illa herself, and like Illa, he looked as if he had just woken up and crawled to the door through a thicket of blackberry bushes. Quickly, Illa realised her mistake.

'I'm sorry, Sir,' she said, a blush rising in her cheeks, 'Must have got the wrong room. Perhaps you should go back to bed,' she added kindly. It was only as she began to close the door that she asked as an afterthought,

'I don't suppose you know where the foreign minister has his quarters? I was told it was here, but I must have been given the wrong directions.' His reply was unexpected.

'Oh, so you're his new clerk, then.'

'Yes, but do you know where he lives?'

'He lives here,' the man said, 'And if you come inside and sit yourself down, he will be with you in a moment.' Illa was ushered inside and seated on a red velvet sofa, as the man withdrew into another room. He emerged a short while later, with his face washed and his hair brushed, wearing a white cotton shirt and breeches under a royal blue tunic. The implementation of personal grooming had actually revealed him to be rather handsome, with shining chestnut hair, grey-blue eyes, and a strong-looking face. Illa, however, was more interested in the empty doorway behind him, clearly wondering why no other man had followed him through.

'Where is he?' She demanded, as if she suspected him of personally locking the minister in a cupboard somewhere and taking over his quarters.

'Right before your very eyes,' answered the man with a twinkling smile, 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Charlemagne of Hawthorne, Foreign Minister to the King of Tortall.' Oddly enough, the first thing that registered out of this stunning revelation was his strange name.

'Charlemagne?' She asked, 'isn't that a little, well, ridiculous?'

'Absolutely,' he agreed, 'my mother, gods bless her, is rather ridiculous herself! That is why my friends call me Charlie, and I think you should, too, as I'm apt to dislike people who use my full name too often, and as you'll be here nearly everyday for the next goodness-knows-how-long, I think it would be much more comfortable for both of us if I didn't dislike you.' Following this extraordinary pronouncement, Illa stood up to introduce herself, suddenly realising how silly she must have sounded, and as she curtsied, she blushed again.

'Lady Illinen of Shadowflax at your service,' she mumbled, 'and you must think I'm a prize idiot right now, Sir. But, Sir, you must understand, Sir, when one is expecting a greying, portly bureaucrat, the appearance of a young man who, if you'll pardon the expression, looks like he's just been dragged head first through a pig sty comes as something of a shock, Sir!' He laughed.

'You flatter me, but please, drop the 'Sir', it's Charlie. I won't ask you to inflate my ego more than it's already been inflated by holding with titles. Plus,' he added mischievously, 'I believe you have more political experience that I do. Maybe I should be the one calling you 'Milady'.' Seeing her confused expression, he explained, 'I'm told that you were the head of a mock government formed among the servants at fief Shadowflax.' Illa was astounded.

'How on earth do you know about that?'

'I have my ways,' he said mysteriously.

'No, seriously, Charlie, I thought only my mother knew about that!'

'And a lovely lady she is, too,' said Charlie with a smirk.

'You, you… you've done a…. a _background check_ on me!' Illa stuttered indignantly.

'I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I hadn't,' he replied with a laugh, 'and I must say, you've proved far more interesting to trace than any Carthaki stableman! You needn't wonder that I was willing to hire you without even meeting you: Let's see…. I heard from the University Dean and your faculty head about your little speeches during the first week of term, Aubrey of Naxen told me that since then you've been topping every one of your classes, of course your mother explained all about your little set-up at home, and your father added that you could recite Tortall's constitution from memory. By far the strangest one, though, was your delightful friend Liesel of Kettlewreath. She said something about the two of you having mud fights when you were younger, then collapsed into hysterical giggles, and I couldn't get another sensible word out of her!'

'Sorry,' said Illa, who, if the truth be told, was not far away from collapsing into hysterical giggles herself, 'It's an inside joke.'

'What I mean to say, Illinen,'

'Illa,' she interrupted, 'If you're to be Charlie, I'm Illa.'

'Illa,' he agreed. 'What I mean to say, Illa, is that I can definitely use your expertise, and not just in clerk duties. I don't mind confessing to you that I have no idea how to do this job.'

Illa was well and truly confused by this point in time.

'But surely you still know more than me. Haven't you completed this same course that I've just started?'

'No,' said Charlie, earning himself a startled glance from his new clerk, 'but let me explain.' He took a deep breath.

'I never thought I'd end up with a desk job. Three months ago, I was a captain in the navy. The youngest in a hundred years, if you don't mind my boasting – you'll recall I've already told you about my ego. We were on a mission to Carthak, when we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a whole fleet of pirate ships, and it was looking like certain death or at least a lifetime of slavery for my men. As a last resort, I asked to meet with the ships captains, to see if we could discuss a better solution, and for some reason, they agreed. I'm still not sure quite how I did it, but I managed to make them see that we didn't mean them any harm, and they'd certainly be better served by letting us go than by capturing a ship of the Royal Tortallan Navy. So they _did_ let us go. Naturally, His Majesty heard all about it, and when we got back to Tortall, he offered me this position, seeing as the previous foreign minister had just resigned, he said something about needing someone with my cool diplomacy in the face of a crisis. I accepted, because it was such an honour even to be asked. I _was_ worried about my lack of qualifications, but seriously, there wasn't anyone with a degree putting their hand up. I know there are a lot of politics students, but honestly, it seems to me most of them go and get their diploma to please their families, and then retire to their estates to complain about every decision the government makes without ever getting down to Corus to do anything about it.' Illa was reminded immediately of Aubrey and his unwillingness to disclose his future plans, before her astonishment at Charlie's tale really hit home. She was enchanted by the thrill of an adventure on the high seas albeit somewhat terrified by the thought of pirates, as she had never really been certain that they existed, and under that, she felt a surge of admiration for the way Charlie had showed, by his unorthodox ascent to power, that there was more than one way to skin a cat. But she frowned at him slightly apprehensively.

'Charlie, I'll do all I can to help you, if you'll remember two things. Firstly, I am not an expert. You might have a lot to learn, but remember I'm here to learn too. You haven't even told me what my duties will consist of, yet! Secondly, and probably more importantly,_ I_ am not the foreign minister. The King chose you for a reason, and it's up to you and you alone to prove to him that his decision was justified.' Charlie looked at her strangely, before grabbing her hand and giving it a hearty shake.

'Don't worry, Lady Illa, I know you're not a miracle worker,' he said with a roguish grin, 'we'll learn together.'


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - I'm sorry about this chapter, guys, it seems to involve Illa talking a lot, with only a few funny comments interjected from Aubrey. Trust me, it wasn't supposed to turn out like this, her massive speech was meant to be a bit of a one-liner and then we'd fast forward to some action… but, as mentioned, she's stubborn, and she just wouldn't shut up. I'm thinking that it will become the background to the rest of the story though, and now at least you know she's actually learning something!

Oh, and a disclaimer (I keep forgetting to write them): Tamora Pierce set up the game board, I'm just having fun moving all her pieces around while she's got her back turned! Oh, and if you want to know what's mine (and when I say mine, I mean mine!) read my profile!

Chapter 8

The weeks turned into months, and soon Illa began to feel that Corus, the palace, and the university – not to mention Aubrey and Charlie – were as much a part of her life as her family and Shadowflax had ever been. Things weren't all rosy, though. Not by any means. On one hand, the university masters were still acting as though she didn't exist. This was slightly frustrating (if the truth be told, Aubrey found it much more frustrating than Illa herself did), but among the other lessons Illa was learning was the value of holding her tongue, and as she sat quietly but productively in her classes, she was often heard to mutter 'silence is golden' under her breath, even if it was somewhat half-heartedly. On the other hand, pirates, similar to those who had attempted to capture Charlie and his men only months previously, were wreaking havoc along the south coast of Tortall, and the repercussions were being felt all the way to Corus.

'Everyone wants to believe that they're just normal pirates, just bandits, untrained, undisciplined, no strings attached,' Illa said to Aubrey one evening, when they were cloistered as usual in the library, 'But Charlie and I have been reading through all the reports that come in, and he thinks there's something different about this lot…. Too much method in their madness, if you get my drift, too tidy and comprehensive in battle, too well stocked with weapons that pirates really shouldn't be able to get their hands on. We think they might be working for the Carthakis, and failing that, they may actually be portions of the Carthaki army. A clever disguise, don't you think? Pirates have never felt obliged to uphold that formalities of war, and there have always been stories about pirate attacks on the coasts of Tortall, even if not everyone believes them,' here she turned a faint shade of pink, but continued, 'No one would think it was anything more than a particularly vigorous raiding season, when really, they're leading up to full scale warfare.' Aubrey cast Illa a look that was equal parts awe, exasperation and fear, but his face calmed as a comforting thought occurred to him.

'I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Illa, but I think you're forgetting something. The emperor of Carthak is married to Jon and Thayet's daughter. You can't just go around doing that sort of thing to your in-laws, and besides which, this is the whole reason why royal houses arrange marriages: to create political alliances, not to start wars.'

'Jon and Thayet?' Asked Illa, wrinkling her nose mockingly.

'My father is, er, _His Majesty's_ cousin,' Aubrey offered by way of explanation, 'They're my godsparents, too.'

_Someone has friends in high places_, thought Illa, but she only said, 'Well, I'm sorry to burst _your_ bubble, my poor, naïve, friend, but this situation highlights one of the most important constitutional differences between Tortall and Carthak.' Usually, when she worked herself into one of these phases, Aubrey switched off and let her make her own way through times, dates, places and ridiculously insignificant laws, but this time, when her rambling seemed to have some vague connection to the real world, he was startled to find that he was actually interested.

'You know, of course – well, at least I hope you do,' she went on, 'that King Jonathon has complete control over our armed forces. There are a number of commanders who advise him heavily, but they can't… well; they can't really do _anything_ without his permission. This, of course, creates problems occasionally, but for the most part, it works out, as conflicting orders are never given, and our head of state has full knowledge of all military activities. The Carthakis, however, decided some years ago that this system was archaic, especially as they have, on several occasions, found themselves burdened with a leader of little military knowledge or experience. As such, their armies are now controlled by Hossan El Adymibad, a lesser noble by birth, but one who has risen up through the ranks, and now holds the position of… of… oh, I forget what it's officially called, but to the Carthakis, he's known as _lyknid adr zhrumi_, which I know is a bit of a mouthful, but it sounds better when they say it. Anyway, it literally means 'the brains behind the brawn', and he certainly has brains. Apparently, he's a rather deceptive character, who seems to have used his wiles as much as his actual leadership skill to get to where he is now. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that this whole conspiracy could have been cooked up completely legally without so much as a whisper to Emperor Kaddar. The Emperor still has the power to stop them, at least, I think he does, but they're under no obligation to tell him exactly what they're up to, and I don't believe he's really entitled to ask. They say that El Adymibad never approved of the Emperor's marriage anyway, so he surely wouldn't set much store by that alliance, and brainy as he is, he suffers from the malady that affects even the best of leaders at times: the overwhelming desire to achieve something that will have people remarking on your time in power, long after you've hit the black god's realms. He wants territory in Southern Tortall, and if his 'pirates' can knock over the few coastal fiefdoms there, he'll have free access to the whole Bahzir desert. The Bahzir have never been prepared for such a large-scale attack, we saw that when King Jasson conquered them last century. It'd be pretty easy to get the whole desert under his control.'

'Why on earth would he want the desert?' asked Aubrey, seeming quite amused, 'haven't they got enough of them in Carthak?' Illa let out an exasperated groan.

'Think like a power-crazed maniac, Aubrey!'

'Funnily enough, it doesn't come that easily to me,' he said, before adding cheekily, 'you, however, are a natural!' She swiped at him with the book she was holding, but he dramatically dodged the said blow and climbed meekly back into his chair, waiting for her to explain.

'Let's think,' said Illa, voice dripping with sarcasm, 'Tell me, boys and girls, after we cross the Bahzir desert, what do we come to?'

'Oh, several rivers and forests,' he replied airily, 'a number of large and prosperous fiefs, one of which I believe is your own, and our glorious capital.'

'A round of applause for the impossibly brilliant Aubrey of Naxen. Do you see what I'm talking about now?'

Aubrey didn't miss a beat. 'Surely the Emperor would realise and stop them before they got that far, though.' Illa sighed.

'Yes, he probably would, but if this really is the case - and of course, it's only a theory at the moment - anything could happen. Sending your soldiers in wearing fancy dress could be just the first step in what might turn out to be a very unusual plan of attack, and I'm hoping there's a way of preventing its fruition with as little bloodshed as possible.' Having decided that she'd done enough work for that particular day, Illa began packing up the various books and papers that littered the table.

'The knights'll be after your head, though,' Aubrey added, after a while, 'You'll be putting them out of a job'

'They could always take up something more sensible. Like crocheting.' The two of the shared a grin, and Aubrey was certain that Illa was thinking the same thing he was. The look on the face of Alanna the Lioness - if she was told that after all the lengths she had gone to in order to avoid 'women's work', she was being forced to take up crocheting in her old age -would be priceless. Seeing that Illa's smile was still tempered by a worried crease between her eyebrows, Aubrey leaned across the table put his hands on her shoulders, his greenish eyes serious yet oddly tender.

'Don't you worry about all this, Illa. As much as you'll hate me for saying this, it really is none of your business,' she gave him an ominous look, but didn't shy away from his grip, 'If Charlie believes your theory like you say he does, he'll sort it out. Things will be under control in no time, and we'll all be hailing you as the great hero who put Mr. Pain in the Behind of the Prawns back in his place.' Illa laughed, remembering that her sister Izmae had said something similar when she had first announced her astonishing ambition, but to Aubrey's frustration, her forehead immediately creased again.

'It's just that Charlie is only a few years older than us, and he has hardly any political experience, and he's only recently gained his position. I'm not sure whether they'll really listen to him, or if they'll just think it's a flight of fancy. You know that sometimes even well meaning, intelligent men like the King and his ministers only believe what they want to believe. It's far easier in the short term to accept these 'pirates' on face value, rather than risk starting a full-on war with our most powerful neighbours.'

'Just sit tight and wait,' said the ever-patient Aubrey, 'Honestly, if they're not going to listen to a minister of the crown, there's no way that they'll listen to a sixteen year old girl with no political experience, who is in such dire need of ice cream that she can't think rationally anymore.' Illa had to admit that he was right, and when she gave no stinging reply to his statement, he savoured his rare victory in silence for a moment, before asking, 'chocolate or strawberry.'

'Strawberry,' she replied with a grin, 'always strawberry.'

'In that case,' declared Aubrey, turning Illa slightly so that she was tucked under one of his arms, 'We shall have to stop by the markets on the way home!'

A/N – I ask you, is there a better way to end any chapter than with ice cream?! Hope this didn't bore you to tears… I actually found it kind of fun to write, making up all the different political stuff, but then, I'm just weird like that sometimes. – Lady Muck


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Illa had never heard the palace bells ring quite like this before. The tune they were chiming was urgent, yet not a warning of attack, simple, though still more complex than the hourly toll, and above all, loud enough to raise her from her sleep though it was at least two candle-marks after midnight. Slipping her feet into a pair of moccasins and pulling on a disgracefully fluffy pink dressing gown, she hurried out into the corridor, just to make sure that this wasn't the chime for an immediate fire evacuation or something similarly disastrous. It didn't seem to be, however, as the corridor was empty except for a large figure stumbling around sleepily suspiciously near the door to Aubrey's rooms. Upon closer inspection, the figure, in the absence of a dressing gown, appeared to be draped resplendently in a red satin bed sheet.

'Red satin,' she murmured mockingly, picking up a section of the fabric and rubbing it between her fingers. 'Must come in very handy for entertaining your numerous mistresses among the court ladies, I suppose.'

'What are you talking about?' Aubrey grumbled. Though his mood had taken a turn for the worst, he was now definitely awake.

'Well,' Illa explained innocently, 'my Da always told me court was a nest of vipers. I'd be surprised if you had managed to live here for so much of your life without being bitten once or twice.' Aubrey groaned.

'Stop talking in riddles, you know I can't even understand them when I've had a full night's sleep.'

'If you value your sleep so much, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?'

'Midnight snack,' he replied sheepishly, 'but then, I might ask you the same question.'

'What? Oh, I just heard the bells chime a couple of minutes ago. It was a tune I didn't recognise, so I came out to check that the palace wasn't on fire or anything. You don't know what it was, do you?' His face split into a grin.

'As a matter of fact, Milady, I know exactly what it was.'

'Well,' she prompted, annoyed at his knowing smile.

'What's the magic word?'

Illa gave him a murderous stare. 'Castration.'

'Correct, Illa,' said Aubrey, blanching, 'and your mysterious bell is the calling to session of the King's Council.'

'Why didn't I know that?'

'One day, my dear, you are just going to have to accept that it not humanly possible for one person to know everything.'

'Aubrey. I am going to take this delightful bed sheet, tie you to a post with it, and offer you to Lady Keladry of Mindelan for jousting practise.'

'But Mindelan has the best aim out of anyone I've ever seen!'

'Exactly.'

'Well,' he said quickly, 'the reason you've never heard the bell before is that the council doesn't actually convene all that often. It's usually just the king going around and meeting all his ministers separately. When that bell rings, you can be certain that something important has happened, and when it rings in the middle of night like this, Lady Illa, you can rest assured that the important thing is bad.'

'Am I allowed to be at this meeting?'

'Why would you presume that?'

'I'm a clerk.'

'Sorry, dear, the king has specially trained, highly efficient clerks to deal with such meetings. Not that I'm saying you're not highly efficient,' he added hastily, quailing under the look she gave him, 'But I think His Majesty likes to keep these things small and select. Less heads to chop off if sensitive information is leaked out, you know.'

'I just have a very bad feeling about this meeting, Aubrey.'

'So you should. I told you that if that bell rings in the middle of the night…'

'No,' she interrupted, 'I think I know exactly why they're convening, and I feel that it's highly unlikely that a certain Sir Charlemagne will be able to present his case without blowing his top, he may require my calming influence.'

'_Your_ calming influence! Illa, you're about as calming as a mother tiger after one has just eaten her offspring.'

'Yes, of course, because you've eaten so many tiger cubs in your time.'

'I never said I had,' Aubrey stated loftily, 'but if you really want to get into this meeting, there might be a way.' Suddenly Illa was looking at him much more kindly. 'Of course, you wouldn't actually be able to say anything, or let anyone know that you were there, but you'd still get to see exactly what happened, and it will be useful ammunition in the post mortem with Charlie, tomorrow!'

'How on earth are we going to manage it?'

'I am about to reveal to you,' he said solemnly, 'one of the greatest rewards of being the Prime Minister's son.' Illa looked slightly confused, and waved a hand, indicating that he should continue (or risk the implementation of one of her earlier threats).

'When I was a very small boy, perhaps three or four years old, and my older brothers were already away at page training, my father used to bring me down to Corus with him sometimes, to give my poor mother a rest, he always said. Anyway, whenever he was called to a meeting of the Council, he used to arrive before everyone else, and stow me into a large cupboard that was built into the back wall of the chamber. Evidently, he thought this was a place where I would keep out of trouble, but by the time he'd done it twice, I'd figured out that there was a passage that led from the cupboard out into the gardens, and I'd go and sit there, instead. I need hardly mention that the main attraction was a pond full of turtles,' he finished with a grin.

'Impressive,' breathed Illa reverently, 'very, very impressive.'

'I'm glad you think so,' said Aubrey, grabbing her arm and beginning to run so that the crimson bed sheet flew behind him like a cape, 'because that's where we're headed right now!'


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

'They've taken Mage's Bluff, Seabeth and Silverstrand,' King Jonathon was saying tonelessly, at the exact moment that Illa and Aubrey slipped quietly into the cupboard.

'Most of the servants and villagers are dead or gravely injured, and the noble families are unaccounted for, probably kidnapped – these are pirates we're dealing with, after all. Through a tiny gap between the cupboards panels, Illa could see Charlie stiffen in his seat, fists clenched, but he said nothing. 'Your majesty,' came a new voice ('Faleron of Kings Reach,' whispered Aubrey to Illa, 'Minister for Defence'), 'We'll have to get a couple of squads of the Own down there, if only to pick up the pieces and have a bit of a sniff around.' 'Very well,' said the King, 'you may inform Lady Keladry that she is at her discretion to send as many as she sees fit. Goddess knows it's been quiet enough up north since Raoul retired and she took over, she's probably chafing at the bit!'

'Jon?' Another new voice: this time, the lone woman present, a certain someone with greying copper hair and sparkling amethyst eyes. 'What I don't understand is why they killed the villagers and servants and took the nobles as slaves. As a rule, commoners make much better slaves than nobles do. They're physically stronger, more used to hard work, and less likely to complain about their conditions. Of course, they might be hoping for a ransom, but pirates don't usually do that… they can usually get better prices at the slave markets in, say, the Copper Isles or Tyra.' Suddenly there came the sound of a fist slamming into the table. Even though she couldn't see exactly what was happening, Illa had little doubt as to whose fist it had been. 'That's because they're not pirates!' Came Charlie's angry voice. The confusion in the air was tangible, but instead of mollifying him, their uncertainty only fuelled his anger. There was a scrape as he petulantly pushed his chair back and stood up.

'They're working for the Carthakis!' He practically shouted. 'In fact, I have reason to believe that they are in fact portions of the Carthaki army in disguise.' Someone gave a badly concealed snort of laughter at this. 'Trust me, I have experience with pirates. These men are well trained, well supplied, and almost clinical in their actions. It will be obvious when the Own get down there and have a look for themselves. These attacks were not the work of pirates; they were the work of soldiers. I have received intelligence that El Adymibad has had his sights set on capturing parts of southern Tortall for Carthak for quite some time, and he has always proved to be a very creative player in war.' The King spoke up.

'I'm sorry, Sir Charlemagne, you have obviously put a great deal of thought into this possibility, but it is just not feasible to go and take the government of Carthak to task over a mere suspicion, we can have someone look further into the matter, but I'm afraid nothing can be done at the present time.' There was a moments silence, before a sneering voice which Aubrey couldn't identify, said, 'That's all very well and good, but don't you think, Your Majesty, that years of, er, adventure on the high seas have given Sir Charlemagne a taste for falsehood, trickery and conspiracy? Surely these are not admirable traits in a minister to the crown.' Charlie's reply was low and cold, a tone that Illa knew he only adopted when he was dangerously near complete explosion.

'I wasn't aware that we were discussing my suitability for my position, Tirragen. I should think that at present you'd care more about the lives that were lost and the lives of those who were injured or captured.'

'Yes, and my priority concern, Hawthorne, is that if you had been doing your job, rather than cooking up fairy stories, the said lives may not have been lost.' This appeared to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Charlie's fist came down on the table again, and Illa heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chair being kicked to the ground.

'You..You…You politicians!' He spluttered furiously. 'People have died, possibly in their hundreds, and you're all quite willing to sit around a table and discuss it, but when someone offers a practical explanation and with it a possible solution, you all tread round the edges and try not to have anything to do with it! Cautious delays will only cost more lives! I've offered my theory and I can back it up with evidence, but as you do not wish to hear it, my business here tonight is done. I bid you all good evening, but try and remember that the reason you're here is to help the sort of people who died today, not for your own personal glory!' The whole of the Council turned to watch as the wild, young ex-sailor swept, still fuming, from the chamber, slamming the door behind him. A muffled thump was heard, from which it could have been deduced that in his fury he had kicked the door, but after that, the room went deadly quiet. Illa stood motionless in the cupboard, feeling a mixture of anger, injustice and frustration wash over her, but under all that, a strange and most inappropriate desire to laugh. Reasoning that there was nothing to be done about it now, she leaned her forehead wearily against the door of the cupboard, which proved to be a grave mistake. Obviously, the last person who had opened that door had neglected to shut it properly, because as she applied her weight, it sprung open, sending her tumbling out onto the floor, closely followed by Aubrey, who landed on top of her in a most compromising manner. The quality of the silence in the chamber changed instantly: from angry and embarrassed, to slightly less angry but very curious. Duke Gareth was the first to recover his wits, and, rising from his place beside the King, he strode over to his troublesome son, grabbed him by his crimson satin toga, and cast him back into the cupboard, closing the door firmly. He then extended a hand to help Illa to her feet.

'Lady Illinen of Shadowflax, I believe?' She nodded and curtsied in the most dignified fashion possible while garbed in a fluffy pink dressing gown.

'Yes, sir. And I'm terribly-' He cut her off.

'I thought so. I have heard a great deal about you, though we have never met.' Here he looked pointedly at the cupboard. Suddenly, the King interrupted.

'Lady Illinen, you act as a clerk to Sir Charlemagne, in addition to your studies, do you not?' Illa flushed at the memory of Charlie's dramatic exit.

'Yes, if it please, Your Majesty, though I doubt very much that it _would_ please, right at the moment.' If he had not been the King, Jonathon would have laughed then.

'Tell me then, my lady; what was your opinion of Sir Charlemagne's behaviour? And I want your _honest_ opinion. Don't feel obliged to side with anyone other than your conscience.' This seemed to be taking an extremely strange direction, but she could hardly disobey an order from the King. She began to speak slowly and carefully, as though every word was of great importance.

'Sir Charlemagne was….' Illa bit back several unseemly but infinitely more appropriate descriptors, '… rash,' she concluded finally. 'In his eagerness to make his point, he forgot his responsibility to the council and the importance of allegiance with its other members, just as he failed to realise that he is not the only one who wants to help these people, and that he is not the only one who has a theory on this matter. He showed little respect to his Sovereign, and many of his fellow ministers, and his detractors would now say that he has proven himself unworthy of the post he finds himself in. If you'll forgive my saying so, I think he still does not understand the nature of politics so very well, Your Majesty. He comes from the armed forces, where the policy seems to be along the lines of less thought and more action.' She glanced nervously around the room, suddenly realising that a lot of the ministers had spent time in the army as well. The King looked thoughtful, Duke Gareth was nodding appreciatively, and Lady Alanna seemed to be wearing the trace of a smile, so she continued.

'Despite this, I believe he has thought this through, and I agree with the point he was making,' the Tirragen knight gave a start of angry surprise, and several others exchanged glances and murmurs. 'Indeed, I must confess that I actually helped sir Charlemagne construct the theory, and provided a lot of the evidence that backed it up. There was a group of Carthaki stablemen, ex-soldiers, at Shadowflax last summer. I believe Sir Charlemagne has the full transcripts of the rumours I recorded, and they are available for your perusal. Though I know it is not my place to say this, I must recommend that you look further into the matter. You may be surprised by what you find. And please don't be too angry at Charlie,' she added, her professional demeanour dissolving, 'The tongue-lashing that I give him when I turn up for work tomorrow will more than suffice. Just bear in mind that if he turns up to the next Council meeting, it may well be in a matchbox.' This speech brought a somewhat manic light to the green eyes of man sitting in the corner of the room.

'Can we keep her, Your Majesty,' he asked eagerly, 'I feel that we could put this one to good use.'

'Not today, Queenscove,' said the king with a genuine smile, 'but I think we'll definitely be seeing more of her. Thank you for your insight, Lady Illinen, I will take into account what you have said.' Duke Gareth rose again, and ushered the now thoroughly bewildered Illa back to the cupboard.

'Now,' he said, 'I suggest you take advantage of the tunnel you didn't think I knew was there and escort my unfortunate offspring back to his rooms. Goodnight.' Illa shook his hand, before entering the cupboard once more. When the door closed behind her, she was confronted by a thoroughly grumpy Aubrey.

'So,' he said, as they started back along the passage 'while I get thrown into a cupboard to fester and rot, you go out there and cover yourself in glory in front of the who's-who of Tortall.'

'Sorry,' she said, somewhat inadequately, 'but I'm still trying to reconcile myself to the fact that they didn't throw me in the dungeons.' Aubrey didn't seem to hear; he was muttering a mutinous tirade under his breath, from which the only distinguishable words were 'my own father.' They walked the rest of the way in silence, by which it is implied that no actual conversation took place, though Aubrey continued to mumble to himself. Just as they were parting at her door, Illa remembered something.

'Aubrey, that man with the green eyes, the one who thought they should keep me, who was he?' Aubrey chuckled.

'None other than the great Sir Nealan of Queenscove. When Father and the King decided a couple of years ago to change the government by breaking it up into ministries, he wanted to play too. He's a healer, so officially he's the Minister for Health, but he is more commonly known as the Purveyor of Sarcasm to the Realm, or Tortall's Official Nuisance.'

'That's funny,' said Illa as she opened the door and stepped inside, 'He reminded me a little of you.'


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – Thanks everyone for your reviews… they're all so lovely! Well, I'm proud of myself, because in this chapter, I have managed to use the word 'platonic'. This word fascinates me, because it doesn't really seem to exist in novels (not the ones I'm familiar with, anyway), yet it had made an appearance in almost every fanfic I've ever read! I didn't think mine would be complete without using it at least once! Oh, and sorry to anyone who was an Illa/Charlie shipper…. Though I must say I've been trying to warn you from taking that stance! And for all of you who said they appreciated the inclusion of Neal in Chpt.10, I have included a dose of him at the end of this chapter as well! – Lady Muck

Chapter 11

The next day dawned rather chilly, which was not really surprising, as it was only a week until midwinter. Neither was it surprising that Illa's mood reflected the frosty weather, as she rehearsed Charlie's death sentence over breakfast. Upon arriving at his quarters, she was annoyed - but in keeping with the theme, not altogether surprised - to find the door firmly locked. She knocked until her knuckles hurt, spat a few choice curses through the keyhole, and, as a stunning dénouement, kicked the door in a fashion which, while it probably would have made Charlie himself proud, did nothing to alter the situation other than resulting in what Illa suspected were several broken toes. But while hopping up and down on one foot in agony, Illa had a stroke of inspiration. Pulling a non-essential hairpin from her secretarial bun, she eased it into the lock, twiddled it impatiently for a moment, and was somewhat astounded when the tumblers clicked and the door swung open. She limped inside, and, seeing no one in the sitting room or either of the studies, ventured further back to the room where Charlie slept. There he was, still sound asleep, with his pillow clasped over his head as if to black out all the evils of the world. Not allowing her wrath to be mellowed by the innocence of his sleeping form, she picked up the jug of water from his bedside table and dashed it over him, then quickly escaped to her study before he could wake up enough to throw something back at her.

He must have entered without a sound, because when Illa looked up some minutes later, he was standing over her, haggard and dripping, with a defeated air about him, but looking so glad to see her that Illa couldn't bring herself to make the carefully rehearsed, scathing speech just then. Instead, she remarked vaguely:

'If I hadn't been there listening at a keyhole last night, I might wonder indignantly why my employer did not see fit to get out of bed this morning, let alone leave the door unlocked so that I could actually enter my workplace without sustaining serious bodily harm. But as I was there, and therefore heard everything, I'm not going to ask either of those questions. Neither shall I enquire as to why you look so dreadful this morning. I'm merely going to state that we both have work to do, and we really should be getting on with it, you in particular, as you've already lost time today.' After a moment's silence, Charlie's still-half-asleep brain finally succeeded in processing Illa's monologue, and his mouth dropped open.

'You mean you were there?'

'Well done, Charlie,' said Illa acidly, returning to the pile of reports she was sorting through.

'But if you were there, if you heard all the stupid things I said, you shouldn't be here now.'

'Why?'

'Well, haven't I been made redundant? Stripped of my title and position?'

'Gods, Charlie!' Illa's temper flared. She stood up, albeit still wincing, and prodded him in the chest with her finger. 'Tell me, then, is that the sort of defeatist attitude that led to you becoming the youngest naval captain in a century: that lie-down-and-let-them-wipe-their-muddy-boots-all-over-me approach? I bloody well think not! If you care about these people and these issues, my friend, you'd better buck up and start trying to do something about it. Get over your self-indulgent melancholy fit, Charlie, and do your damned job!' Out of breath, she limped back to her desk, sat down, and began shuffling papers again. When Charlie was sure she'd stopped yelling, at least for the time being, he knelt down beside her chair, so that their eyes were on a level, and asked, 'How come you're so sure that I _haven't_ lost my job?' A small smile flitted over Illa's moody features.

'I assume you didn't take a leaf out of my book and start listening at keyholes, then?' He shook his head. 'Well, after I fell out of the cupboard and got acquainted with Sir Gareth –' here Charlie looked as if he might have interrupted, but he rather wisely remained silent,

'- The King realised who I was and who I worked for, and asked me my opinion of your actions. I explained that you had acted rashly and inappropriately, but that the basis for your argument was – in my opinion – correct, and that your outrage was motivated by nothing but concern for the subjects of the Realm. Somehow, I think I made a good impression – I think I even convinced them to look further into our theory – and I believe the worst you can expect will be a private meeting with His Majesty. If you conduct yourself with dignity and humility on that occasion, I see no cause for further alarm.' She broke off and arranged her face into a more friendly expression.

'I don't want to preach at you too much, though, and I'm sorry about yelling at you like that. I've done the same thing more than once: opened my mouth when I would have been far better served by keeping it closed. These things happen, from time to time. They're bad, but they're not the end of the world.' Charlie looked immensely relieved, but at the same time, rather awestruck.

'Mithros, Illa, I think you've just saved me my job! I've always been in your debt, for the amount of work you do around her, but now I'm starting to realise just how extraordinary you truly are. I'm afraid to say,' he said quietly, but with a strange look in his eyes, 'that you've become quite indispensable to me.'

'That is only to be expected,' said Illa, swelling with mock self-importance, 'It isn't every minister who has a super-human clerk to come and save the day every time he loses his marbles.' Charlie chuckled, but immediately became serious again.

'I didn't mean as my clerk. You should have realised by now that I see you as more than just an employee.' Illa was by now becoming slightly worried by the direction things seemed to be taking. Her immediate desire was to make a plausible excuse and run away, but instead, she tried to steer the conversation into marginally safer waters.

'Yes, well, considering the amount of time we've been spending together over the past months, I suppose it is only natural that we should become friends. I personally find you to be most amicable, and I'm glad to hear that my feelings are returned.' Charlie sighed, but found it impossible to frown while she was still within his line of vision.

'Illa, you don't understand what I'm trying to say.'

'On the contrary, Charlie,' she said grimly, 'I understand _exactly_ what you're trying to say.'

'So then-'

'Lady Keladry's sent two squads of the Own to each of the fiefs that were sacked. It says here that we can expect detailed reports from them in about a week.'

'Illa-'

'And there's been a reported sighting of another pirate vessel off Port Legann. A bit further north than we've been expecting.'

'Illinen of Shadowflax-' _Ooh, _thought Illa_, full name and fief, someone must be getting frustrated_, but she kept to her ploy, trying to ignore the fact that with each attempted interruption, Charlie's face was drawing closer to hers.

'Oh and this one's from your mother. She says-'

But Illa was cut off by the brush of Charlie's strong hand against her cheek, and the feel of his lips on hers. Alarm bells immediately began clanging in her head, but it was still a moment before she had recovered sufficiently from her shock to disentangle herself from the situation. Panting, she scrambled to her feet and made a kind of limping dash to the other side of the room, barricading herself behind a conveniently placed chair. Glancing back at Charlie, she saw that he looked rather stunned, though disappointedly so.

'Charlie, you dolt!' she exclaimed, trying in vain to repress the quaver in her voice. 'That was exactly the type of scene I was trying to save you from. I figured you'd had a bad enough day already, without me breaking your heart!'

'Don't you love me, then?' He asked. At heart, he was still a rakish, flirtatious young sailor.

'Honestly, Charlie! Have you always had so many women fawning over you that you find it unusual when someone views you in a strictly platonic manner? No, Charlie, I don't love you, and I believe that if you consider it carefully, you'll find that you don't love me either. A volatile combination of friendship, over-tiredness, extreme gratitude, and my own breathtaking beauty and personality, has caused your overwrought brain to trick its self, and the sooner you realise it, the better.'

'But are you certain we couldn't make it work?' His eyes had taken on an annoyingly pleading expression.

'No,' said Illa unexpectedly, 'I like you well enough for it to work, but only for a while, and I for one am not even vaguely interested in a relationship that is casting no illusions of permanency.'

'Why, pray?'

'That is a very stupid question.'

'No, I meant why don't you think _we_ could work out in the long-term?'

'Because we're too similar. We're both ambitious, impulsive, intelligent, and hot-tempered, and would probably kill each other within a week of moving in together. Charlie, you're going to hate me for saying this, but eventually you're going to have to accept that you need to marry a court lady. Someone gentle, calming, ladylike, and tolerant, who can put up with your pigheadedness and soothe your tantrums without having one herself. She can still be smart and kind, with a good sense of humour (you needn't pick one of the vipers!), but I'd say trying to court the aspiring Prime Minister is a little too far off the mark. We get along well as friends and colleagues, but anything further would be suicidal.'

'But Illa, _you_ need someone who can stand up to you. Someone who can say 'no' to your ridiculous demands. Someone who can live in the same house as you without getting steamrollered or brainwashed. Someone… someone like me.'

'Fortunately, though, it is not your responsibility to decide exactly what I need.'

'Neither is it yours in relation to me. In fact, I was under the impression that _I_ was _your_ boss, anyway.' Illa groaned, covering her face with her hands, and when she spoke, it was in a soft voice that showed little of her customary spirit.

'This is going nowhere. What can I say, Charlie? I don't love you like that, and I never will, and there's nothing that either of us can do about it. The sooner we just forget this little episode, the sooner we can get on with what we're really here to do.' Heroically, Charlie managed to wipe the woebegone expression from his face and most of the lovelornity from his mind, replacing them with resolve. He really did want to make good at this job, even though his unorthodox (to use the most flattering term) approach had caused some people to think otherwise, and his most treasured ally had just declared her 'un-love' for him.

'Will you still be my clerk, though? Even after all this, I don't want to lose you as a colleague.'

'Charlie,' Illa began sternly, 'How hypocritical would I be if I came here and gave you a speech on not giving up just because of a minor setback, and then went and did the same thing myself. No, I will be here bright and early, the first day after the midwinter break,' she said with a grin, which Charlie found, to his surprise, was easy to return, 'And I will get you organised to tackle this whole pirate thing, which unfortunately we seem to have forgotten all about, at present. Though I think you might have to excuse me for the rest of today,' she stood up, gingerly tested her injured foot, and winced, 'I believe I need to visit the infirmary.'

Sir Nealan of Queenscove worked quickly, unlacing Illa's boot to reveal a row of toes that were alarmingly swollen and purplish-black in colour.

'If I may ask, My Lady,' he said with a faintly amused expression, as he began to prepare a salve for her injuries, 'What exactly were you doing?' Illa turned beet red, and looked down mutely at her lap.

'You tried to kick his door down, didn't you?' Sir Nealan asked shrewdly. Too stunned to make a denial, Illa nodded.

'Impressive. What did he say to that?'

'You mean after I'd gently woken him with a pail of ice-cold water?' asked Illa, getting into the spirit of things.

'Err, yes. Did he yell at you?'

'Not as much as I yelled at him.'

'What did he say, though?'

'Not a whole lot, really.'

'What did he do, then?' Illa hesitated, but not for long. She was beginning to like Sir Nealan very much.

'He kissed me.'

'Kissed you! Well, I imagine he's feeling much better now, then.'

'You overestimate my seductive powers, Sir,' said Illa with a grin, 'and actually, after what I said to him afterwards, after I'd run to the other side of the room and hidden behind a chair, he's probably feeling much worse!' Neal chuckled, but only said,

'Hold still while I heal these toes of yours.' Illa watched in fascination as bright green fire flowed from his cool fingers to envelop her foot.

'You know,' she said conversationally, 'I've never been healed before.' He looked up in surprise.

'What? Not even when you were sick?'

'I wasn't often sick, and I think my mother preferred just to let nature run its course. She said something about not wanting to build up a resistance to healing in case we ever _really _needed it.'

'Sensible woman. Just take it easy for the rest of today, though. Sometimes healings can tire you out.'

'Nonsense,' Illa scoffed, 'It's only a couple of toes. I'll be-'

'Yes, I surmised as much,' said Neal wryly, as her eyelashes fluttered and she fell, floppy as a rag-doll, back onto the cot she'd been perched on the edge of.

'Odds-bods,' he muttered to himself, as he tucked Illa under a blanket. 'What is it with these determined youngsters. Even the ones who aren't training to go off and chop our enemies to pieces seem to end up unconscious in my infirmary far too often!'

A/N – sorry, that was a bit long, but I really wanted to add the bit featuring Neal, and it wasn't long enough to warrant inclusion as a separate chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, as I really do like Neal. And I hope the, er, 'unreciprocated fluff' turned out all right – the fluff is the hardest bit for me to write, as, sadly, all my 'fluffy' experiences have been tied to the pages of romance novels. (sigh). Please review… you will make my day (especially if you write something about how wonderful I am, but please don't feel obliged) And by the way, I know 'un-love' is not a real word, but my policy is that if you can't think of an existing word that means exactly what you want it to, you just have to make one up yourself! Oh, there's a ball coming up, and Illa has a plan… concerning Charlie and his love life… stay tuned, all will be revealed! – Lady Muck


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – Thanks again for the reviews…. I'm glad that last chapter turned out OK, I wasn't completely certain about it when I posted it, and you've all made me feel much better! This one is a bit shorter, but then it's only a kind of in-between chapter (I'm just stalling 'cause I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen next!)

Chapter 12

When Illa returned from Shadowflax the week after Midwinter, it was in the aftermath of one of the biggest blizzards in living memory. Still shaking snow out of the hood of her travelling cloak, and stamping her feet and rubbing her hands against the cold, she entered her quarters, gratefully eyeing the blaze that had been kindled in her fireplace. She changed into her dressing gown, and sat down before the fire to wait for the maid who was supposed to be bringing up hot water for her bath. Presently, there was a knock at the door, and Illa hastened to open it, stifling a gasp as she recognised the visitor. The woman standing on her doorstep was perhaps forty years older than the young serving-girl she had been expecting, but though her dark hair was streaked with grey, and her face was slightly lined, Queen Thayet was still undeniably beautiful.

_Mithros_, thought Illa as she struggled to curtsey, _Why is it that every time I meet someone of any importance at all, I'm wearing this gods-cursed dressing gown!_ Aloud, she said, 'Your Majesty. To what do I owe the unexpected honour?'

'May I come in?' asked Thayet with a smile, 'I believe, attired as you are, it might be more appropriate for you to receive me in the privacy of your own rooms, instead of in this very public hallway.' Blushing slightly, Illa stood aside to let the Queen enter, then ushered her to a cosy armchair beside the fire. Feeling unusually inadequate, she handed Thayet a plate of Midwinter fudge that she had brought back from Shadowflax (which was all she had in the way of refreshments), before sitting down in an adjacent armchair herself. Seeing no fault with the provisions, the Queen took a piece of fudge, and consumed it with obvious appreciation.

'Lady Illinen, I must say that it is a pleasure to meet you. I have been hearing great things about you for some time.'

'No, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine…'

'Stop that,' said the Queen sharply, 'my name is Thayet, please use it – if you won't I'll make it an order. Anyway, from what I've heard, such stiff formality goes against your nature, and I assure you, I'm not here to question you, I'm not reporting to anyone. In fact, I just stopped by,' she paused dramatically, 'to congratulate the great hero who put Mr Pain-in-the-Behind-of-the-Prawns back in his place.' Illa was momentarily astonished by this quotation, but then she remembered that Thayet was, after all, Aubrey's godsmother. She had only just recovered from that shock, when another confusing thought struck her.

'Your Ma– I mean, Thayet, when you say 'put him back in his place,' do you mean…'

'You didn't really get much news at Shadowflax, did you?'

'No, the roads were blocked because of the blizzard, they've only just opened up again today. Please, elaborate, if you will!' The Queen's face showed what could only be described as an interesting hybrid between a gleeful grin and a warlike snarl,

'Jon talked to Emperor Kaddar, who talked to the army, who told him their plans. Illinen, you were right all along, and El Adymibad has been demoted and the Carthakis are thinking of reverting to their former policies regarding military leadership!' Illa was astounded, almost but not quite to the point of speechlessness. She'd had no idea that things could happen so quickly, especially over a restful (and stormy) holiday period. But instead of revelling in 'her' first political victory, she asked uneasily,

'Why are you telling _me_, this? Shouldn't you be congratulating Sir Charlemagne? After all, it's his portfolio. He made all the big decisions: I'm just his clerk.'

'I've already been to congratulate him,' Thayet revealed, 'And he said that you were just as responsible for the victory as he was, perhaps even more so, because you were the one who convinced the council, and he thinks you probably saved his job, as well.'

'But it's not really a victory, is it?' asked Illa sadly, 'Even if the noble hostages are returned-,'

'Which they have been,' Thayet interjected.

'-The economy of the south coast will be in utter ruins for years. Hundreds of people died pointlessly, and there's no saying what a madman like El Alymidad might do next, even if he has been stripped of his position.'

'Illinen,' said Thayet gently, 'people may have died, but people do die, every once in a while, when they live in Realms where power is gauged by strength in battle. Wherever and whoever we are, living in these times is a risk. But remember this: by preventing outright warfare, you and Sir Charlemagne have saved the lives of countless others, possibly the whole realm, and, unlike many of my dear, knighted friends, you didn't have to kill anyone to do it.'

'But it was an accident! I fell out of a cupboard!'

'Did you really?' Thayet sounded rather impressed, 'they never told me _that_ much of the story.'

'Yes, it's true, and I would have scurried right back into the cupboard without saying a word, unless the King had explicitly ordered me to talk. Then nothing would have happened, and Tortall may well have been invaded in earnest by now!' Thayet rose from her chair and walked over to where Illa sat, taking her hand with a motherly air. 'Illinen, when you're sixteen years old and holding no position of power, saving your country from utter annihilation is something to be very proud of, even if it did only happen by accident.' Illa smiled, her worries eased for the time being.

'I suppose it would be kind of fun to tell someone, 'Oh, guess what. Last week I fell out of a cupboard and prevented a war!' Thayet gave an unexpectedly girlish giggle.

'That's more like it. Oh, and Illinen-'

'Call me Illa. 'Illinen' makes me feel guilty!'

'Well, Illa, the other reason I'm here is that I thought you might have needed someone to talk to. You probably have friends here at court, but really, in both your work and your studies, you're something of a woman in a man's world. I thought you might be a little lonely.'

'I never really thought about it like that,' answered Illa slowly, 'but I guess you're kind of right. I have Aubrey –' Thayet smiled at the mention of her godschild, '-But I can't tell him everything, and sometimes he gets into 'moods' and isn't much use to anyone, and my best childhood friend, Liesel of Kettlewreath, is still at the convent school so I don't see her all that often. I always thought I was too busy to be lonely, but now I'm thinking that I may be wrong'

'Come and find me, then, if you ever feel like a chat. Believe me, I know what it feels like to be a woman with responsibilities!'

'I don't have responsibilities, though.'

'You're in charge of keeping the foreign minister from making a fool of himself in public. I'd consider that to be a _great_ responsibility.' Illa laughed in agreement.

The Queen of Tortall and her young subject chattered blithely and irrelevantly for some time, discussing everything from the state of the snowy roads between Corus and Shadowflax, to the prospects of a good barley crop in the north next summer, to the latest court scandal, involving a young nobleman and a pretty but suspiciously pregnant-looking laundress. Finally, there came another knock on the door.

'That must be my bathwater,' said Illa, springing up to answer the summons, as her guest rose to leave. As the maid entered and lugged her heavy copper tub towards the bathroom, Illa and Thayet found themselves alone in the doorway. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, and then embraced. Each of the women could see something of herself in the other, and their acquaintance had blossomed quickly into a strong, albeit slightly unusual, friendship. As Thayet turned to go, Illa voiced a question that she had been wondering about for some time.

'Thayet?'

'Yes?'

'Does it make it easier to get your political opinions heard if you sleep with the King?'

'You impudent hussy!' But Thayet was laughing.

'Don't worry,' said Illa chirpily, 'your marriage is safe. I was sort of intending to wait until your grandson took the throne, anyway. Much more dashing, don't you think?'

'You know,' reflected Thayet amusedly, 'we don't really discuss that sort of thing in the bedroom. The mind tends to be rather more fixated on-'

'Enough!' Illa exclaimed quickly, 'I don't think I really need to hear that,' and she rushed back into her chambers. When she emerged again, only a matter of seconds later, she was bearing a large platter of fudge.

'If you wouldn't mind, could you take this to His Majesty for me, just as a thank you for not throwing me in the dungeons, and assure him that I have no desire to seduce him!'

o o o o o o o o

Later that night, full of fudge and the peace of mind that comes from being the ruler of a realm that is not being attacked by soldiers playing dress-ups, King Jonathan settled himself beneath his covers. It had been a long day and now he wanted nothing more than to sink into the pillows, shut his eyes, and go to –

'Jon,' came a plaintive voice, 'why don't we ever discuss foreign policy in bed?'

A/N – Sorry, I think that was a kind of boring chapter, but I needed to introduce some more female characters, and Thayet is one of my favourites… I thought she'd be a good friend for Illa, even if she is in her late-fifties by now. Oh, and I'm also sorry if anyone wanted the pirate thing to go further, but I decided to end it here, with the good guys winning, as an all-out war threatened to take over the plot and I didn't want that to happen. Reviews, please… they are nearly as good as fudge.

Lady Muck


	13. Chapter 13

A/N - Greetings, devoted fans, I'm back again! Less than a week since I've updated, but it feels like longer… I spent quite a lot of time trying to work out what happens next, but I've finally come up with another chapter (once I decided what it was going to be about, it only took me a couple of hours to write!). Please enjoy, and for those of you who were confused by the appearance of beetroot in chapter three, it shows up again here, but still with very little explanation as to its presence!

Chapter 13

After the excitement of the pirate incident, the first year of Illa's time in Corus rolled around calmly but astonishingly quickly, and before she knew it, it was summer again. As well as Illa being free from classes, Liesel had been 'released' from the convent school, meaning that the two friends once again had the opportunity to spend almost unlimited time in each others company. Both had chosen to spend their holidays in the city, not least because, as seventeen-year-old maidens of noble birth, tradition required that they be presented to the court at the midsummer ball. But on this particular day, the idea of a debut was as yet only a slightly sickening premonition, and they had taken advantage of the warm sunshine and rollicking breeze to conduct a picnic in the Royal forest. Illa, in typical scholarly fashion, had filled her picnic basket with textbooks, stacks of reports she 'needed' to sort through for Charlie, and over-adequate supplies of stationary, leaving it to Liesel to supply the other necessities, such as food.

'If you were anyone but Illa,' Liesel chuckled, as they seated themselves under a patriarchal old oak, 'I should say that, with your studies _and_ your job, you've bitten off more than you can chew.' Seeing Illa's ominous expression, she added hastily, 'But seeing as you _are_ Illa, and will bite my head off if I even consider making such outlandish claims, I will not say anything of the sort. Even if it _is_ true!' Illa scowled, flicked a grape at her friend, and began sifting through the pile of reports.

'Mercy on us!' exclaimed Liesel mildly, 'you don't _really_ intend on working when you're supposed to be having a picnic, do you? I thought the only reason you brought all that stuff was so that you didn't ruin your reputation by showing that the great Illinen of Shadowflax is occasionally able to relax!' Liesel sprawled over onto the mossy ground as she dodged another grape, pausing there for a moment to marvel over the fact that, for once, she seemed to be getting the upper hand in a bout of repartee with her sharp-minded friend, who had uncharacteristically resorted to crude violence in the form of fruit-flinging. Sitting up again, Liesel reached over, grabbed the wad of documents out of Illa's hands, and stuffed them into the picnic basket, which she then proceeded to hide behind her back - unwittingly depriving Illa of her arsenal as well as her work.

'Not today, alright?' she pleaded, 'bore yourself to death any other day you like, but not now when we're meant to be having fun. Besides,' she grinned, 'it won't hurt Charlie to look after himself for a while; you do spoil that boy terribly, Illa. Tell me, does he actually do _any _work at all?'

'More and more, as a matter of fact,' replied Illa, who, resigned to the loss of her reports, seemed to be finally warming to the idea of conversation, 'you know, while I was laid up in the infirmary for a week in March with that dratted cold, he succeeded in almost single-handedly negotiating a trade deal with Tusaine. I can't claim any credit for that one at all. I think that was when I first started to realise why he got the job. Before then, it felt like I was babysitting a petulant child inclined to throw at a tantrum at the least appropriate moment, but now I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I failed to notice that he was a capable professional with, despite his protests, quite a good idea about how to fulfil his commission. I overestimated my own importance, and I think now I've worked out that if you intend to be a leader, or even just a follower, that's the worst mistake you can possibly make.'

'Well, I'd say you don't have to worry too much until he starts giving you lectures!'

'That's just the thing. The other day he did, and I got such a shock that I can't even remember what it was about. It really woke me up to the fact that _I _work for _him_, and not the other way around. I'm being doubly careful about what I say, now that I've remembered he can dismiss me whenever he likes! '

'Come on, Illa,' said Liesel in exasperation, 'You've _got_ to admit that some of the things he did early on were bang out of order, and you were the one that fixed everything. He certainly won't be dismissing you after that! Almost as dangerous as overestimating your importance is underestimating it, and you've certainly been important to him… in more ways than one.' Liesel grinned. She, of course, knew all about Charlie's clumsy and unsuccessful attempt at courtship, and in the absence of further grapes, she winced gleefully as an acorn connected forcefully with her forehead.

'I'm just thankful he got it over and done with early on. My not-so-subtle rejection seems to have been the catalyst for the turning point in his career. And really, Liesel-'

'Before you start your 'we're too similar' tirade, Illa, I've already heard it at least four times, but even _you_ have to admit that with his, er, 'heart-melting good looks, rakish charm, heroic deeds and sizeable portion of the Hawthorne inheritance', he wouldn't have been a bad catch!'

'Aargh! No! Gods help us, that blasted convent has made her start thinking like a court lady!'

'Nonsense. I'm just 'showing that Shadowflax chit what she missed out on', according to the ravishingly lovely but unfortunately brainless Lady Magnolia of Copperpine.'

'You're both welcome to him,' Illa grumbled,

'No,' Liesel heaved a dramatic sigh, 'polygamy is, alas, illegal in this realm. The exquisite Magnolia will surely hook him. I am destined to be an old maid for all eternity.' The two girls laughed at this last statement, but it was not without a twinge of bitterness. The dread of never finding a 'someone' was a fear that shadowed them both. This time, Illa took it upon herself to reassure her friend.

'You'll find someone, Liese, I'm certain. You haven't even made your debut at court yet. I'm sure there'll be plenty of dashing, handsome knights falling over each other to get at a beautiful, accomplished young lady fresh from the blasted convent.' Liesel snorted dubiously.

'But surely if anyone was ever going to take an interest in me, they would have done so by now. I mean, even _you've_ been kissed, Illa!'

'_Even_ me?' asked Illa in mock indignation, 'yes, well, I have, but let me make it clear that I damn well wish I hadn't!' Sensing that this conversation was going nowhere, or at least nowhere positive, Liesel changed the subject.

'I have decided what I want to do though.' Silence. 'When we had free afternoons at the convent, I used to go across the road and help out at a school for common children. It was one of the ones the Queen set up, when she first came to Tortall. Of course, it was wonderful idea, and a lot of the children are really becoming quite scholarly, but there was one big problem.'

'What?'

'So many of the children are war-refugees from Scanra, Saraine, the Copper Isles, and a few other places. They don't know any common when they get here, and the teachers don't have time to run a language school as well as doing everything else. So those children are just left to their own devices, and they never really learn anything. I want to open a school for immigrant children, where they can learn about Tortall and our language, as well as the things the other children learn. I don't know where I'll get the money or the permission, but that's what I want to do.' Illa was stunned.

'And I though _I_ had a worthwhile ambition!'

'Yours _is_ worthwhile, Illa, just a different type of worthwhile. I can't do big things, like you, so I just want to help in any little way I can. I think this is a way I can contribute to the realm without making too much of a stir, and gods willing, I can get the means to do it.' Being a sixteen-year-old girl, however, Liesel could not keep her mind off gossip for long.

'Has anyone asked to escort you to the ball yet?'

'Yes.' Liesel's eyes began to glow with feverish interest, but Illa quickly dispelled any illusions she was harbouring.

'Before you work yourself into a frenzy, Liese, it's only Aubrey, and his tender enquiry ran along the lines of 'uh, Illa, lets make this as quick and painless as possible. I just dropped by to inform you that I'm going to be escorting you to the Midsummer ball, to spare myself the frustration of listening to you mutter under your breath for weeks about the fact that no one else asked you, then eventually having you ask me anyway as a last resort.' How could I _possibly _say no to such a romantic hero? Pass me a sandwich, please.' Liesel dove into the picnic basket amid gales of frighteningly hysterical laughter, only to emerge a couple of seconds later, completely sobered but without having recovered any sandwiches.

'I knew I shouldn't have trusted that new maid! She had a bit of a shifty look about her.'

'What's her name,' joked Illa, 'I work for the foreign minister. I can have her deported!'

'Kate, I think she was called. Works in the kitchens. She was skulking sullenly around the place when I arrived there. I would've asked someone else, but they were all busy, as the King is having the Gallan ambassador to dinner tonight.'

'Well, if she didn't pack sandwiches, what _is_ in that basket then?' Liesel peered into the hamper again and grimaced.

'The best I seem to be able to offer you, Milady, is a, gods, what _is_ that? It looks like a kind of, I don't know, _beetroot éclair_!'

'Beetroot!' cried Illa, swooping on the pastry with delight. She then proceeded to eat it, watched disbelievingly by Liesel, who was wearing an expression halfway between admiration and disgust. Swallowing a hideous, pink-stained mouthful, Illa recalled the topic of conversation before the sandwich saga.

'So, who's taking you, then?'

'Martinius of Fersken,' said Liesel forlornly, 'well, not officially, but he will be, in the probable event that no one else asks me.'

'What's wrong with him?'

'Nothing, and we've always gotten on very well, but I just don't think dancing with your cousin really counts. His mother is my da's sister. They'll have it all worked out. I wish I had someone like Aubrey.'

'No, trust me, you don't! He just plagues my life out, that boy. Listen, the main reason I'm going to the ball with him, apart from the fact that I actually do need a partner, is so that I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't get into any mischief. Remember, the last time I followed one of his hare-brained schemes, I ended up in front of the King's Council in my pyjamas!'

'Still, it must be nice to know that you have an escort who's _not _related to you.'

'Oh we're probably related somehow,' said Illa comfortably, 'us Tortallan nobles are rather an incestuous lot!' Liesel grimaced again, but Illa went on immediately, 'for now, however, the most pressing issue is finding you a proper dancing partner. This is a political assignment of different kind. Just like contracting a trade agreement or a marriage alliance on a smaller scale! Don't worry, my brain is already bubbling with exciting possibilities. ' Liesel was not quite certain whether to be reassured or alarmed by this pronouncement, but she decided to chance it, hoping that Illa could conduct matters while retaining at least _some_ common sense.

'Any clues, then?' She asked hopefully.

'Would I really stoop so low?' came the calm reply, 'anyway, when have I ever failed you before?'

'Well, there was that one time-'

'Hush, you impertinent young madam. I am devastated by your lack of trust in your oldest and dearest friend. I'll have you know that I have forged alliances with a great many influential people. Trust me when I say that all the 'powers that be' in Tortall are on my side. Except maybe the gods, but I can't really see that they'd have any problems with what I'm going to do….'

'I suppose I can leave it all to you, then,' said Liesel, with an indulgent yet slightly apprehensive smile at her friend.

'Yes, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride,' returned Illa, with an unsettling gleam in her eyes, which caused Liesel, once again, to wonder if this really was a good idea.

'Actually, there _is _one thing you could do for me,' Illa added after a moment's meditative chewing.

'What?'

'Go to the kitchens and congratulate Kate the sour-tempered scullery maid on her beetroot éclairs. Tell her they're the only reason she hasn't been exiled to Carthak by now!'

A/N – yes, well, I figured that as Illa is not a tough and unfeminine knight, she is allowed to have gossipy conversations about who is taking whom to the ball. I should add that Kate the kitchen maid is named after the sister of my friend (fairydust000) who Liesel is based on. I was requested to write Kate in as an embarrassing part so fairydust could laugh at her! Hope I obliged. He, he, he. Thanks for all the reviews, though I wouldn't mind a few more (if you like my story, tell your friends!)… If you've taken the time to read the whole damn thing (nearly 20 000 words), surely you wouldn't mind taking another, say, 30 seconds to review! I guess you can see that Illa's next 'political endeavour' will be on a somewhat more personal level… I hope you can't guess what she's going to try and do, but I think it's obvious (then again, I am the author!). I guess she started with a bang in Corus, but it takes a bit of an effort to keep up such a hectic lifestyle over a prolonged period, so I hope you don't mind the absence of thrilling, life and death situations! We all need our quiet times – She will, however, be enlisting the help of Thayet and possiblyeven Illa! Gary, so expect the return of some familiar faces!

'Tackleglomps', to use a 'cry-of-the-wolf-child'-ism

Lady Muck

PS – You know, I just realised that practically all my chapters consist of Illa having a conversation with only one other person. If this annoys you, let me know, but I've worked out that the subconscious reason I did this is because I myself am more comfortable talking to people one-on-one than in large groups. Just goes to show that when we write, we may well display more of ourselves than we really intend to! Food for thought guys!

PPS – it _is _possible to 'wince gleefully', isn't it?


	14. Chapter 14

A/N – before you read this chapter, go back and read chapter 13 again, as I added in something that I forgot to put in the first time which is going to be rather important in this chapter… I'm serious, go back and read it - otherwise you probably won't get a lot of what happens next. Oh, and this is a bad chapter… sorry. It's another filler, I think, and I couldn't quite manage to get funny bits in… you'll just have to appreciate the writing, but I think even that is not so great here… please review and convince me otherwise, I need to be cheered up!

Chapter 14

Illa, hair and clothing somewhat tousled from her sprint, skidded to a halt outside the Queen's chambers, watched suspiciously by the burly soldier standing guard at the door.

'I'm here to see Thayet,' she panted. The man raised one bushy eyebrow, but made no move to open the door. Illa huffed impatiently.

'Let's try again, then, shall we?' She took several steps backward and settled her hair and skirts, then, smiling, walked slowly and deliberately towards the guard. 'I am Lady Illinen of Shadowflax,' she said, curtseying daintily, 'I don't mean to be a bother, Sir, but would now be a terribly inappropriate time to request a private audience with Her Majesty?' Glancing at the door, however, Illa saw that it was already open, and Her Majesty was standing there, one hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

'Thayet,' complained Illa as they walked inside, 'can't you train your guard dogs to recognise me? That's the third time this month!'

'What was so important that you needed to give my faithful guards such a hard time in order to see me?' asked Thayet, once they were seated on a comfortable sofa holding steaming cups of tea. Illa blushed faintly.

'Well,' she began slowly, 'I'd heard that you had a bit of a penchant for matchmaking. I was wondering if you could help me.' Thayet's eyes lit up.

'I haven't done any of that for years, and really, for all you've heard, I wasn't much good at it. The only people I really ever managed to set up were Lord Raoul and Lady Buriram, and if you ask _them_, they did it all themselves anyway.'

'But you wouldn't be above using your privileged position to _help_ an aspiring matchmaker, right?'

'Right. Who are your guinea pigs, then - wait… One of them is your charming employer, isn't it?'

'Er, yes… How did you know?'

'What would calm down such a flighty personality more than marrying him off? I'll admit, he has improved greatly since you gave him that diatribe at midwinter, but I agree with you fully that his wildness would be far more effectively quenched by a woman with soft lips than one with a sharp tongue.' Illa winced as she recalled the uncomfortable day when she had been forced to play both those roles.

'Nicely put, Your Majesty.'

'Thank you. Anyway the sharp tongues bit rules out you, me and Lady Alanna; who else have you got in mind for him?' Illa tried to banish an unholy mental image of Charlie dancing with the Lioness, but eventually succumbed to the fit of giggles that accompanied it.

'He needs to marry a court lady,' she said, as soon as she could manage to speak coherently again, 'I may be educating him to be something of a feminist, but if he married, say, a warrior, or a scholar, or a powerful mage, he'd never be happy. In fact, I think he'd be driven even further up the wall.'

'Have you mentioned this to him?'

'Yes. He didn't like the sound of it much, though, and when I suggested marriage-'

'You _proposed_ to him?'

'I was referring to _his_ marriage, not mine!'

'Oh, sorry.'

'- He said that he preferred a bachelor's lifestyle.'

'Bad move. As soon as they hear that, all the eligible maidens at court will be out to prove him wrong! But bachelorhood certainly has its perks. The amount of times I've seen a pretty girl sneaking out of his chambers of a morning…'

'I _really_ didn't need to hear that! And I don't think _she'd_ be too pleased, either.'

'Who?'

'Never mind.'

'Illa!' Thayet was incredulous, 'you come here to ask for my help, and you won't even name your victims.'

'Well, to be honest, the main reason I wanted your help was so that I knew I had someone powerful supporting me in my endeavours. That way, when Charlie finds out and attempts to have me executed, you will be able to overrule him.'

'Illa, you are abusing our friendship!' exclaimed the Queen in mock hurt, 'and if you don't tell me who she is, I may well let you hang regardless!'

'I promise I'll tell you later, but I'm pretty sure you won't know her, anyway,'

'Try me.' Sighing, Illa leaned over and whispered in Thayet's ear.

'You're right, I don't. And I don't even think I've met her parents, which is saying something. Is she, er, marriageable.'

'If you mean of the appropriate age, with a sizeable dowry, and without gruesome physical disfigurement, I'd say yes, though I think at the moment her primary concern is finding an escort for the midsummer ball.'

'You could kill two birds with one stone, then.'

'Now _that's _a romantic metaphor.'

'If you need a better one, go and see Sir Nealan of Queenscove. He likes to think of himself as our unofficial Poet Laureate.'

'No thanks. The last time I did that I ended up unconscious!'

'You poor dear. Have a biscuit.' Illa reached towards the proffered tray, and the conversation strayed to safer matters. Finally, Thayet rose.

'Did you need anything else? I'm supposed to be meeting my daughter-in-law for glaive practise.'

'Yes, actually. I was wondering if you knew where I could find Duke Gareth.'

'Duke Gareth, as in the Prime Minister?'

'No,' said Illa irritably, 'Duke Gareth, as in His Majesty's pet crocodile.'

'Sorry to disappoint you, Illa, but Jon actually named his crocodile after Lord Raoul.' Illa didn't bother dignifying that with a response, but Thayet was unperturbed.

'Why didn't you ask Aubrey, anyway?' she enquired slyly. If Illa noticed the slyness, she chose to ignore it.

'I couldn't find him in any of the usual places, and I had no desire to spend the rest of my day looking for him when the question could be just as easily answered by somebody else.'

'Well, if the Duke's not in his office, he'll probably be out watching the pages train. I think Gary's finally decided, in his old age, that it might actually be useful to have a squire.'

o o o o o o o o o

When Illa finally caught up with Duke Gareth, he was leaning against the fence that surrounded the practise courts.

'Ah, Lady Illinen,' he said without turning to look at her. 'I wonder if you could give me your opinion on Masbolle there.' He gestured to a tall, blue-eyed boy with mouse-brown hair, who appeared to be an enthusiastic participant in a mock duel.

'I really know nothing about swordplay, my lord.'

'That is beside the point.'

'Well… um, it looks like he's winning, but he seems to be having a good time, too. And…' Illa looked closer, 'the other boy is limping a little; he's favouring his right leg. But he - Masbolle, I mean - isn't taking advantage of that, because it's just a mock duel and he wants it to be a fair fight.'

'Once again, you show remarkable insight. That, my dear, is what we call chivalry. His mother has taught him well.'

'Is that why you're going to take him as your squire, my lord? Chivalry?' The Duke nodded thoughtfully.

'Chivalry is the most important quality a knight can possess, so yes, I believe that's why, Lady Illinen. I believe that's why.' They stood in silence, until finally, the young Masbolle succeeded in disarming his opponent. Duke Gareth turned to Illa.

'Now, young lady, I believe you have other reasons for being here than simply to advise me on my choice of squire.'

'Yes, my lord. I merely meant to enquire whether the proposed foundation of a school for immigrant children would be categorised as business relating to the foreign ministry.' _She certainly goes straight to the point_, thought the Duke

'Is this your latest project?'

'No, my lord, but it's the project of a friend of mine, and she'd just like to know who she needs to contact.' This wasn't strictly true, but it wasn't really a lie, either.

'Yes, I think that _could_ fall under your banner, Lady Illinen, only your friend might want to consult Sir Douglass from the education ministry as well. The best place to start would be to ask Sir Charlemagne if he would grant her an audience.' Illa could have hugged him. Duke Gareth was playing right into her hands. She hadn't realised that her delight had been so apparent on her face, and was therefore quite surprised when the Duke spoke again.

'May I ask why this is so important to you, Illinen?' Illa hesitated, not really wanting to reveal the whole truth to the Duke, but not wanting to lie to him either. She settled for a compromise.

'Well, she _is _one of my best friends, my lord, and as to anything further, you could just ask Aubrey.'

'He knows, does he?'

'Well, no, actually, he doesn't. But give him a week and he'll be quite the expert. Gods, I've never known anyone who had such a talent for cajoling secrets out of people!'

'I have,' smiled the Duke, 'his mother is just the same.' They stood in silence a while longer, while the Duke lapsed into pleasant memories and Illa's face contorted strangely; she seemed to be fighting some kind of internal battle.

'Oh, _fine_!' she almost shouted. Apparently she'd lost the battle. 'I will admit to you, my lord, that I am plotting something, but it's not going to hurt anyone, and I really do believe that the immigrant school is a good idea, so please don't tell anybody or Charlie will have my guts for garters!'

'I'll leave you to plot to your heart's content, then, but I must ask where a young lady like you learnt such descriptive language?'

'Ah, that particular expression I believe I picked up from your exceedingly well-mannered gentleman of a son. And don't you dare try to tell me it's his mother who he gets the secret-cajoling thing from!'

A/N- there... hope the abysmal standard of writing didn't reduce anyone to tears. I promise it'll get better, but I had to put in a bit of background stuff. Review... and draw me up from the depths of despair I entered while writing that chapter :-)

lady muck xoxo


	15. Chapter 15

A/N – how much do you guys love me? I spoil you with almost daily updates… in this chapter, Illa's grand plan comes to fruition… enjoy (but I'm not sure how good it actually is)

Chapter 15

Straight after breakfast a couple of days later, Illa, armed with Aubrey for moral (and possible physical) support, made her way down two flights of stairs and around several corners to the Kettlewreath rooms. She squared her shoulders and knocked on the door, but as the sound of approaching footsteps filtered through, she was suddenly filled with doubt about the sensibility of her actions, and losing courage entirely, she deftly stepped behind Aubrey, who, being almost six foot tall, obscured her completely from view. Unfortunately, Aubrey had not been notified as to this particular part of the plan, and was therefore at something of a loss for words when Liesel opened the door, looking fresh and sweet in a lavender morning gown. He would have continued staring at her uncomfortably, if it had not been for a rather painful prod in the small of his back, which he correctly interpreted as meaning 'say something'.

'Um, good day, Lady Liesel,' he said, with a disjointed nod of the head - he didn't dare risk a proper bow under the circumstances – 'I must say you're looking, er, very lovely this morning.'

'Oh, good morning Aubrey,' Liesel looked rather confused, 'What exactly are you doing here?'

'Oh, well, I needed to, um, I needed to ask you… No, wait! I needed to borrow a… a hair ribbon!' he finished triumphantly, though not without a bit of less-than-gentle prompting from behind.

'Whatever for?' This question was unexpected. 'And why couldn't you just ask Illa?'

'Well, you see, it's, um, it's…. it's for her birthday present!' Liesel was looking thoroughly perplexed by now.

'But her birthday isn't until November!'

'Oh, damn, I forgot about that. Do you have a ukulele?'

'No. Why?'

'Oh, just took a fancy to learn, that's all…'

'Aubrey, what on earth is going on?'

'Sorry, Illa,' said Aubrey firmly, 'but I've run out of small talk. I think you'd better come out now.' He reached a hand behind his back and pulled a sheepishly disgruntled-looking Illa out by her elbow, earning himself the glowering warning, 'Aubrey, I have become very well acquainted with your father!' Liesel, as she was occasionally inclined to do, collapsed into semi-hysterical giggles, which scared Aubrey so much that he backed away and tried to hide behind Illa, though he obviously didn't succeed nearly as well as she had before.

'Oh, Illa!' gasped Liesel when she could breathe again, 'What could you possibly have done that was so terrible that you'd be afraid to face _me_!'

'You'd be surprised,' chirped Aubrey. Illa elbowed him soundly in the ribs, while still trying to display a relatively calm façade.

'Liesel,' she began slowly, 'exactly how serious were you the other day when you told me that you wanted to open a school for immigrant children?'

'Completely serious,' said Liesel with a touch of annoyance, 'do you really think I'd change my mind about something as important as that?'

'No, of course not,' Illa replied quickly, 'just, exactly when do you plan to start organising this?'

'Well, it had better be soon, hadn't it?' said Liesel thoughtfully, 'I'm finished at the convent now, and if I don't find something to occupy my time, before you know it I'll have turned into another idle court lady, with nothing to do other than gossip, embroider and give orders!'

'Good… good,' said Illa vaguely, 'that's just-'

'Illa,' Liesel interrupted, 'would you mind telling me exactly _why_ this is of such sudden importance?' Too flustered to create another abstract reply, Illa threw caution to the winds.

'Because you have an appointment with the foreign minister at the second bell after midday this afternoon to discuss that very proposition.' There was a loaded pause, then,

'Excuse me? I have a what?' Illa repeated the information.

'Why did you do this, Illa?' A strange red tinge had appeared on Liesel's cheeks. Illa thought quickly, prepared to say almost anything as long as it wasn't the whole truth.

'Well, you're my friend, and I like your idea very much, and as I had the means to help you, I thought it might be nice to do you a little favour by getting the ball rolling, so to speak.' The voice that answered her was undeniably angry.

'You think I need your charity, then, Lady Illinen 'friends-in-high-places' of Shadowflax?' Illa and Aubrey exchanged a panicked glance. That wasn't what Liesel was supposed to say.

'I think,' said Illa carefully, 'that no one should become so independent that they forget how to recognise a good turn.'

'So now you're for the incarceration and dependence of women, are you, Madam Prime Minister?'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it!' cried Illa flaring up in turn, as Aubrey put his hands over his ears and muttered something that sounded oddly like 'cat-fight', 'I only meant that even the best of us can't do everything by ourselves all the time. Life is a team sport, not an epic me-against-the-world battle!'

'Lucky I always have you around to save the day, then, isn't it?'

'Look, you can take it or leave it!' yelled Illa, too worked up to care that this was not what would be called a 'diplomatic solution', 'if you really wanted to do this, it wouldn't bother you how the opportunity came about. It's not like I stole anything or bribed anyone… I don't know what your problem is!' And with that, she stomped off down the corridor. But before she had gone more than ten paces, she felt large hands catch her shoulders and rub them gently.

'That was most amusing,' came Aubrey's soft voice, 'but now it is time to come back and apologise.' He turned a shame-faced Illa, whose anger had already evaporated, around, and led her back to Liesel, who was still standing by the door.

'I'm sorry,' mumbled Illa, unable to look at her friend, 'I just thought you'd be grateful, that's all. I can cancel the meeting if you like, and we can forget all about it.'

'No,' said Liesel, 'don't do that. I wasn't really angry or ungrateful. It's just a bit of a shock. There's a big difference between and abstract ambition and something that's, well, almost set in concrete, you know.' Illa, who, over the course of only a few months had gone from spontaneously choosing her future career to making an impromptu speech in front of the King's Council, understood completely.

'Liesel,' she said softly, 'there is one more reason why I've done this, and I hope it'll be for the best, but it would be a… a breach of professional conduct if I were to mention it before your meeting with Sir Charlemagne, so you'll just have to trust me on this one.' Impulsively, she drew her friend into a warm hug.

'Now for the violins,' came a voice. Both girls turned to shoot violently unfeminine death glares at Aubrey, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

'Well,' said Illa, disentangling herself from the embrace, 'If we are in understanding now, I'd best leave you to it. No doubt you'll want to get some documents in order before this afternoon. Don't worry, though, it'll be fine. You've met Charlie before,' Illa winced as she recalled Charlie's description of that meeting, 'just don't go all hysterical on him again… and not a word about mud-fights, do you hear me?'

'I will do my best to gratify your wishes, O patron-of-those-who-have-brilliant-ideas. Now, get out!' Giggling again, Liesel shooed her visitors away from the door. As she began to close it, Aubrey popped his head back inside and said, 'make sure you wear a pretty dress, Lady Liesel. Our Sir Charlemagne is very particular about those sort of things.' As her two friends disappeared from view, Liesel heard the slap of Illa's open hand on Aubrey's arm, and the cryptic comment,

'Subtle, Naxen, very subtle!'

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

That very same afternoon, Illa and Aubrey sat in Illa's rooms, watching the rain beat down on the windows and trying to distract themselves from worrying about how the meeting was progressing. Watching rain fall, was, as Aubrey put it, 'right up there with watching paint dry and watching grass grow as one of the most boring pastimes on the planet,' so to prevent Illa from suggesting that they drag out their textbooks and get a bit of preparation done for the next semester, her proposed a board game. Due to Illa's slightly irrational fear of chess, and Aubrey's completely rational fear of Illa, they had begun a match of Yamani checkers, a soothingly simple game played with coloured glass counters on a star shaped board, when there came a knock at the door. Expecting it to be Liesel, as the fifth bell after midday was due any minute, Illa dove onto the sofa and covered her head with a cushion, leaving Aubrey to greet the visitor. Instead of an either tearful or jubilant young noblewoman, however, the only person he found on the doorstep was a blue-clad palace footman, 'bearing a missive for the Lady Shadowflax.' Aubrey took the proffered envelope, thanked the man, re-entered the sitting room, and dug Illa out from under a pile of pillows, wordlessly handing her the letter. Illa unfolded it and scanned the hastily written lines quickly. A grand total of about ten seconds later, she let out an excited squeal, pulled Aubrey out of his chair, and proceeded to waltz him energetically around the room. Aubrey, to his credit, bore this very well, but some of his confusion must have shown on his face, as Illa eventually halted the wild dance (she was out of breath anyway), picked up the letter and passed it to him, and then busied herself straightening the several articles of furniture they had upended.

Aubrey, having digested the message's contents, could not quite see what all the fuss was about.

'So, the meeting went extremely well, and they've gone to dinner at an eating-house in the city to discuss further arrangements. How does that prove your victory?' Sighing, Illa sat her friend down on the sofa, and began to explain, in the voice she reserved for very small children or Aubrey at his most dense.

'I work for Charlie, remember, and about once a week, someone requests a meeting with him to discuss some proposition or another. He _never_ takes them out for dinner, especially if they're women. Says people will get the wrong idea.'

'So what? He obviously just doesn't care about people getting the wrong idea anymore.'

'No Aubrey, maybe, just maybe, this time people would be getting the _right_ idea. Mithros be praised! I am a _genius_!'

'Take it easy, they're not married yet!' Illa said nothing, so a few seconds later, Aubrey asked in a deeply moralistic tone, 'so, Lady Illa. Even if they do end up married, what have you learned from all this.'

'Well,' came the response, a lot less penitent than the one he'd been expecting, 'if they _do _end up married, which I'm sure they will, I'd say that even when people get mad at me, and doubt my genius, and say something's a bad idea, I should just ignore them and go full steam ahead with whatever I planned to do!'

'I was more thinking along the lines of-'

'Oh Aubrey,' came the sarcastic reply, 'I know I'm a hopelessly meddlesome busybody, but just let me savour my triumph now, there's no need to rain on my parade?'

'Try telling the weather gods that,' said Aubrey, looking out the window with a grin.

A/N – was that OK… at least, for those of you who were still in the dark about the plan (probably only those of you who ignored my advice and didn't read the revamped chapter 13), it is in the open now, and appears to be succeeding. The ball is coming up in chapter 16, probably, and probably a bit of fluff, too, but I haven't quite decided about that yet. Review!!!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N – and here you have it, ladies and gentlemen (n.b – do guys read/write fanfics? It seems to be a pretty female orientated area), the grand midsummer ball. Possibly a bad chapter, I'm not really sure, though I do like the bit about corsets. Unfortunately, **darking girl**, I could not fit in anything about a lost slipper or a pumpkin, but there is a dance so you will have to be satisfied with that!

Chapter 16

She took a deep breath, scrunched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the unthinkable agony to come.

'There,' said Bertha, the annoyingly cheerful maid who had been commissioned to prepare Illa for her debut at court, as she tightly fastened the last stay, 'you'll be as right as rain.' Illa would have scowled at her, had not her entire consciousness been consumed with attempting to find a way to breathe despite the fact that her lungs didn't seem to be expanding or contracting anymore. While she did love dressing up, Illa had never really understood the concept of the torturous corset. The way she saw it, the clever optical illusion that contorted her slightly too thick waist into a perfect hourglass silhouette was only another husband-catching ploy, and even if it did contribute to catching the husband; sooner or later, unless a lady had some very quirky bedroom habits, he was going to see her without it on anyway. Surely it was better just to make the most of what you had.

However, Illa had little time to imagine the hideous discomfort which would no doubt be associated with making love while wearing a corset. The businesslike Bertha, having already rustled her into a stiffly starched petticoat and a pair of delicate silk stockings, was turning to unveil The Dress, which even practical Illa thought of with barely disguised reverence. She couldn't help but smile, despite the terrible undergarments, as she slid herself into its satiny folds. The fabric was a deep, dark, rich red, and cut quite simply, but the fit was perfect. The neckline was just low enough to show a bit of cleavage without abandoning _all_ modesty, the bodice was lightly sprinkled with embroidery and tiny crystal beads, and the silk swished pleasingly around her feet, where it was set off by an underskirt of unusual silvery lace. All in all, The Dress suited Illa down to the ground, and when set off with the ruby jewellery that had been a posthumous 'coming out' gift from her grandmother Shadowflax; the whole effect was startlingly queenly. Just as Bertha applied the finishing touches, which consisted of a little face-paint and a jewelled flower clipped in the tumble of mahogany curls piled atop Illa's head, there came a knock at the door.

'Who goes there?' she called out, in a gruff, corset-induced tone somewhat akin to that used by the guards who attended the palace gates.

'It is I,' came the muffled reply, 'the gallant hero seeking to deliver his beloved damsel from terrible peril.'

'Terrible peril is a most adequate descriptor', said Illa, opening the door to join Aubrey and proceeding to amble off down the corridor with him, 'and don't even try to look understanding, my fine friend. You, I sincerely hope, have never worn a corset!' Under the cover of her banter, Illa found herself reflecting, somewhat unintentionally, that really, her friend did scrub up rather well in his Naxen-coloured velvet tunic and hose, with his hair properly brushed and his boots properly polished.

'You're looking particularly dashing tonight.'

'I could say the same to you. Actually, if there had been a princess your age, I would have sworn that I had knocked on her door by mistake!'

'That's an interesting compliment, Aubrey.'

'Well, I do pride myself on originality, but if you'd rather hear that your lips are as red as roses, and your eyes shine like a thousand galaxies, I could arrange that, too.'

'Loser.'

o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Most Tortallan noblewomen only found themselves at the top of the Grand Ballroom Staircase once in their lives, so when they did, excitement tended to be running high. As Aubrey whispered to Illa, standing in the small waiting-chamber he had romantically dubbed 'the holding pen' was like being caught in a flock of gaudy, hyperactive canaries. Confronted with the preening, tittering and flirting of the other girls her age, Illa had to agree. Unfortunately, though, the only girl she actually wanted to see was nowhere to be found. Of course, this was probably just due to the fact that the room was very crowded, but Illa couldn't help but worry over Liesel's conspicuous absence. She couldn't see Charlie anywhere, either, nor had she yet laid eyes on Martinius of Fersken (though this was perhaps not unusual, as she had never met him before and had no idea what he looked like). Luckily, Illa was able to escape the hectic holding pen quickly, as she was one of the first to be announced

'Presenting Lady Illinen of Shadowflax, accompanied by… oh, great Mithros! Don't tell me that's Aubrey of Naxen again!'

'Whatever did you do to the herald?' asked Illa, shaking with suppressed giggles as they made their way down the long staircase, amid gales of laughter from most of the court.

'It was a long time ago. One of the triumphs of my misspent youth that doesn't bear retelling now. Sorry if I ruined your perfect debut, though.'

'Oh, nonsense, it'll be much more memorable this way!'

'Are you sure?'

'Aubrey,' this in a warning tone, 'if I pushed you down the staircase right now it would be even more memorable!'

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and made their way over to the dais on which the monarchs sat. While her escort waited a respectable distance away, the debutante stepped forward to 'meet' the Their Majesties.

'Good evening, Your Majesty, Thayet.' Said Illa, curtseying elegantly to the royal couple, with only a small wink at the queen. The king snorted.

'If only you knew how _strange_ that sounds. I think you'd better call me Jon, just for the sake of consistency. Any purveyor of such splendid midwinter fudge is forever in my debt, anyway. And I hope you can manage to keep my dear godsson out of mischief tonight. Festive occasions like this tend to have an interesting effect on his temperament.'

'Oh, I'm sure he'll have _lovely_ time,' trilled Illa, smiling sweetly over her shoulder at Aubrey, who, judging by the look on his face, was not far enough away to be out of earshot.

'Well, if he gets to be too much of a handful, you can just come to me,' said Thayet, 'and I'll introduce you to his mother!'

'What is the world coming to?' asked Aubrey incredulously as he led Illa away, 'my own relatives – well, almost relatives. Wait, they _are_ relatives, Jon's mother was my great aunt – plotting against me, with my impertinent minx of a dance partner.'

'Gods, it was hot in that holding pen,' said Illa, who didn't appear to have heard any of this, 'be a gentleman, Aubrey, and go and find me something to drink.'

'Your wish is my command,' he intoned, and with a player's theatrical gesture, he brushed his lips to Illa's fingertips and embarked heroically on his epic quest. When he returned some minutes later with the drinks, it was to find Illa gazing apprehensively at the staircase, where the latest member of the seemingly never-ending stream of elaborately garbed 'canaries' was floating daintily down on her escort's arm. She turned to him with a worried expression as he slipped a glass into her hand.

'What if it didn't work?'

'So what? You and Thayet had fun, didn't you, and you had the pleasure of seeing me make a complete fool of myself, which usually gratifies you no end!'

'But if it _didn't_ work, they'll both kill me!'

'Illa, if it didn't work, they probably have no idea that you were trying to set them up. Honestly, they'd be more likely to kill you if it _did_ work!'

'True, but it's just that I haven't heard from either of them, let alone _seen_ them since the day they went out for dinner, and I can't think why, unless they're avoiding me until they decide on an appropriate moment for my demise.'

'You haven't seen _either_ of them?' Illa shook her head.

'Then that settles it,' said Aubrey smugly, 'they've eloped!' This unexpected theory reduced them both to helpless laughter, but suddenly, the herald's voice cut through their mirth.

'Presenting Lady Liesel of Kettlewreath, accompanied by the Right Honourable Sir Charlemagne of Hawthorne, foreign minister to the Crown.'

Illa dropped her glass of champagne.

On Aubrey's foot.

Oblivious to Aubrey's loud protestations as the cold liquid permeated his shoe, Liesel, arrayed in pale, gauzy lilac, and Charlie, thankfully not arrayed in pale, gauzy lilac, descended the staircase. The plotters turned to each other, wearing identical, evil grins. This time it was Aubrey who grabbed Illa, and their animated circuit of the dance floor caused havoc among the other couples, who had all settled for a more conventional waltz.

'Haven't you two already made enough of a stir tonight,' drawled a familiar voice. Out of breath, the dynamic duo halted, only to come face to face with the objects of their excitement. For a moment, Illa was struck completely dumb, then:

'What happened to poor old Martinius, then?'

'Oh, _him_,' giggled Liesel, gesturing to a tightly embracing couple on the other side of the ballroom, 'he seems be enjoying himself adequately with the charming Lady Seraphine, don't you think?'

'Well, yes, it _would_ seem that way. But where have you two _been_ for the past week? Were you avoiding me?'

'Yes,' said Charlie and Liesel together.

'Why, pray?'

'We figured out pretty quickly that we were only pawns in your elaborate plan,' said Charlie, 'so we decided to let you suffer a bit longer than was strictly necessary, and it was definitely worth it. It's made the look on your face now even more enjoyable!'

'I thought you'd eloped,' was Aubrey's contribution.

'Now there's an idea,' Charlie looked thoughtful.

'_Not_ today, please,' said Illa firmly, 'be off with you, you impudent boy, and no more talk of eloping, because you know I'd never speak to either of you again if I didn't get to be the bridesmaid. Liesel, I will talk to you later, but for now, go and enjoy yourself with a dancing partner who is hopefully not related to you!' As Charlie and Liesel strolled off arm in arm, Illa sighed a sigh of pure satisfaction.

'Victory is sweet!'

o o o o o o o o o o

The success of her plan (possibly combined with the champagne) had put Illa in an incredibly good mood, and the evening that she had been dreading ever so slightly for several months now was actually turning out to be quite enjoyable. But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and a pair of well meaning but heinously gossipy matriarchs effectively ended this one. Illa and Aubrey were sitting out a dance in a cool, shadowy niche in the ballroom wall, when suddenly, and quite clearly, they overheard the following conversation:

'It really is quite a clever plan on the part of the Duke. There never seems to be enough young men to go round at court, but he's managed to get her into the one place where she'll have no competition.'

'She came with the youngest Naxen boy tonight. He personally is a bit of an airhead, but they're one of the finest families in the realm; the girl couldn't do better unless she married into the royal line itself, which won't happen, because the King thinks it jeopardises his power if he marries his children and grandchildren off into Tortallan families.'

'What I don't understand, though, is why Shadowflax couldn't just negotiate a marriage contract with the boy's father, if that's what he wanted for her, instead of going through this whole rigmarole.'

'He never would have got it. For reasons best known to themselves, the Naxens _always_ marry into northern fiefs. Some say they're trying to avoid Bahzir blood.'

'But as far as I know, there's not a drop of that in Shadowflax.'

'It may be so, but I think avoiding matrimonial alliance with the south has just become a matter of principal….' A very red and alarmingly furious-looking Illa had heard enough. Dragging Aubrey in her wake, she strode out of their corner, and found herself immediately face to face with the speakers. Struggling to regain some degree of self-control, she curtseyed stiffly and attempted to wipe the angry expression from her face.

'Excuse me, Ladies, but I couldn't help but overhear what you just said.' The gossipers cast anxious looks at one another as they recognised their eavesdropper. Illa drew herself up to her full height, and a somewhat regal tone entered her voice.

'There is absolutely no truth relating anything you have deduced regarding either my motives for studying at the university or my father's plans for marrying me off. If you had cared to do your research a little more thoroughly, you would have found that I am more than pulling my weight as a member of the politics faculty, and that I am performing similarly adequately in my further position as clerk to the foreign minister.' Here she broke off and stomped inconspicuously on Aubrey's foot, hoping to extract a little support for her cause. It worked, though not exactly in the manner Illa had hoped.

'And I am most certainly not an airhead!' Illa cast him an irate glance, 'oh, and any rumours concerning our imminent marriage must also be quenched here, I'm afraid, Ladies,' said Aubrey deadpan. An evil twinkle came into his eyes as he continued, 'No truth in them at all…. We much prefer living in sin!' Illa and the elderly dames all gasped, and while the latter two made their way quickly from the scene, no doubt to share news of the 'scandal' with their cronies, an incomprehensibly wrathful Illa grabbed Aubrey by the collar and dragged him out onto a deserted balcony, whereupon she set about beating him to a pulp with her _shukusen_, an unexpected midwinter gift from Sir Nealan of Queenscove and his Yamani wife.

'You'… _Thwack_

'Are the world's'… _Thwack_.

'Biggest'… _Thwack_

'Prat!'…. _Thwack… Thwack… Thwack _

'Are you finished?'

'What do you think?! You have just'… _Thwack._

'Completely'… _Thwack._

'Ruined'_… Thwack_.

'My reputation'…_Thwack_

'Anddoyouwanttoknowwhaticoulddotoyouwiththisthingifiactuallystartedusingitproperly?!'…_Thwack… Thwack… Thwack… Thwack… Thwack_.

Placing his life in his hands, Aubrey reached out and grabbed the fan, thankfully not losing any fingers in the process. The confiscation of her weapon seemed to have a particularly detrimental effect on Illa: she sagged visibly and subsided into defeated silence.

'I'm sorry, alright,' said Aubrey, 'I didn't think before I opened my mouth. But you can't worry about the consequences. You heard those old hags, there are rumours about you flying around already.'

'There are? Why haven't I heard them, then?'

'Because I haven't been telling you, and neither has Liesel. We didn't really think it was the sort of thing you needed to hear. But it's only a matter of time before the scandalmongers have you in bed with someone. If it weren't me, it'd be Charlie, or the university dean, or my father, or the King. At least this way it doesn't hurt the reputation of anyone important.'

'But you _are_ important!' Aubrey gave her a twisted smile,

'Not in the greater scheme of things I'm not.'

'_I_ think you are.' They stood there looking at each other for a moment, before suddenly and inexplicably, Illa flung her arms around Aubrey's neck and broke down in tears.

'Why can't they just believe me when I tell them that I'm doing this for the right reasons?' she sobbed. Aubrey, who had never seen her cry before, let alone had her fling herself on him, was understandably shocked, but did his best to amend the situation.

'They can't believe you because they've been brought up not to,' he said with uncharacteristic philosophy, as he patted her on the back, 'they've been brought up to think that any woman in a man's job must be sleeping her way to the top, and old habits die hard.'

'But why does _everything_ have to be so difficult? It's just not fair!'

'You chose this life, Illa, knowing that it wasn't fair. You could have been a pawn in a marriage contract, but you chose something more worthwhile. It was always going to be a challenge, but you're more than equal to it, and if it makes you feel any better, I'll be standing by you, as long as you want me there. Illa, I may be an unambitious good-for-nothing, but I swear, Illa, if you ever need me, I'll be here for you.' This statement was intended to be reassuring, so Aubrey was somewhat surprised when Illa only cried harder. By way of remedying the situation, he announced:

'Illa, it's late, and you're overtired and overemotional. Come on, I'm taking you home to bed.'

'What?' The waterworks were immediately put on hold, as Illa's puffy eyed face took on a suspicious expression.

'Not _my_ bed, you knucklehead! Your own!' Suddenly, the whole drama seemed laughable, and laugh they did, all the way back to Illa's chambers, earning themselves a few startled glances from onlookers who seemed (perhaps justifiably) doubtful of their sanity. As they parted at Illa's door, Aubrey gave her a friendly hug, saying;

'Now, go and get some sleep. In the morning, everything will just seem like a very unusual and slightly disturbing dream.'

'Well, I think I can safely say that my court debut must have been one of the most eventful on record! What are you going to do now?'

'I am going to go home, sit in front of the fire, and dry myself off. Between your champagne and your tears, I feel like I've been caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella!'

A/N – I hope that was OK… I know it was long, but I wanted to get all the ball bits in one chapter. Unfortunately, I think parts of it were decidedly dodgy (review and set my mind at ease – or flame me, whatever takes your fancy!). And sorry, there wasn't _really_ any fluff… I decided the time wasn't right, but I promise there will be some eventually. **Sera dy Relandrant**, I _know_ you're going to say that Illa crying was out of character, but I think every once in a while we all have the right to indulge in a good sob-session… and it's probably a lot more fun if you have a shoulder to cry on! Oh, if any of you read the review signed IZMAE AND RAIF, and were confused by it, it is from my brother and sister, and its meaning will become a little more apparent if you visit my profile!

Lady Muck xoxo

PS – do the books ever actually mention what Naxen's colours are? If so, let me know, and I'll change the unfortunate adjective 'Naxen-coloured', which I think sounds weird!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N – gosh… chapter 17 already! 17 sounds like a really big number!… it is one of my favourite numbers, actually (as well as being the number of my next birthday! – on November 21st… remember to send a card!), so I'd better make this a good chapter, eh? For those of you who were wondering what happened to Illa's university course, it makes an appearance here!

Chapter 17

Two exciting things happened to brighten up an otherwise painfully monotonous autumn. This first was that Izmae, after years of feverish anticipation, finally made it to Corus and was assigned as a trainee to the renowned seventeenth Rider group, Group Askew. Illa was very glad to be able to spend time with her enemy-bashing sister again, as the two had always been close, and thankfully, now that she had actually joined the Riders, Izmae's almost constant hyperactivity and pent-up enthusiasm had been satiated, making her company much less taxing to those not so wholly caught up in dreams of battle glory as she.

The second exciting event was that Illa finally answered a question in class. It really came about quite by accident, late on a Friday afternoon, at that particular stage when no one in the classroom had their mind on the lesson - the lecturer looking forward to a peaceful weekend with his family, and the majority of his pupils envisaging a slightly less peaceful scenario, hopefully involving a pretty girl and an exorbitant quantity of ale. The tired looking Scanran-language master was becoming resigned to the fact that although there was technically another half an hour until the last bell, he was going to get little more intelligent response out of his charges today. Wearily, and without any illustrious expectations, he posed one last question.

'All right, since they want you trained in diplomacy, then…._ Åe spoker alghrronsiln tor regirec dinte… _Translated loosely – I request an audience with your King. Who can see a problem with this statement?'As usual, Illa's hand was the first (and only) in the air. Perhaps the still-summery heat of the day and the lateness of the hour had got to the language master, because for a split second, he forgot the lecturers' unwritten but unanimous boycott of 'the girl,' and during that split second he just happened to open his mouth.

'Shadowflax?' Immediately, the low buzz of bored chatter that had filled the classroom was consumed by a silence in which the amazement was quickly overridden by curiosity as to whether the girl actually had anything to say for herself or not. For a moment, Illa, throat clamped shut and tongue mysteriously adhered to the roof of her mouth, felt more nervous that she had at any stage during her ordeal in the king's council chamber, but then, in typical fashion, she succeeded in finding her voice.

'Well, sir,' she began with some trepidation, 'the statement in itself is grammatically sound, the problem is with the looseness of your translation.' Illa looked around. Her classmates seemed to be hanging off her every word.

'The best translation of the word _regirec_ is actually 'ruler', rather than 'king', and when considered in the light of Scanran politics, the phrase could cause some confusion. Due to Scanra's unusually primitive feudal structure, many of the nobles who you would most likely be addressing this statement to would actually swear their first allegiance to the warlord of their clan, rather than whoever is claiming to be on the throne this week, making the warlord their 'ruler.' Using the word _regirec_ you could never be quite sure exactly who you'd end up getting an audience with. If you wanted to meet the 'king' you'd have to be much more specific.' There was a loaded pause, before the bewildered looking lecturer nodded.

'That is correct,' he said stiffly, before - appearing in no fit state to continue the lesson - he motioned the class to dismiss.

But, somewhat uncharacteristically, the class didn't go anywhere, even though their instructor had made a quick escape. A blushing Illa fiddled with her pile of books, shuffled her papers, and clumsily screwed the top back onto her ink bottle, preferring to bend over the desk rather than look up to face the numerous pairs of eyes that were firmly fixed on her. She couldn't hide forever, though.

'So, Shadowflax,' a voice rang out from the back of the room, 'more than just a pretty face then, eh?' Though it was teasing, the voice was not unkind, and Illa slowly raised her head.

'Yes,' she replied, addressing the area where she supposed the remark to have come from. She looked around at the crowd of dandified young noblemen.

'Shame I can't say the same for the rest of you, though!' She winced, hoping the attempted banter hadn't hit a nerve, but she shouldn't have worried, as the small room instantly exploded with laughter.

'At least she thinks we're pretty, lads,' came a new voice, still cackling merrily, 'it'd break my heart if she told me that all my vain attempts at loveliness and glamour had been fruitless!'

From then on, the attitude of Illa's classmates towards her underwent a profound change. Though she never entered right into their most intimate circles, she became a sort of mother figure to the boys. This encompassed many further roles, including those of the etiquette master ('feet off the table, Tasride, and don't let me see them there again until you've scrubbed your boots with caustic soda and polished the soles with beeswax!'), the poetry critic ('honestly, Carlisle, If she's swept off her feet by this rubbish, then she's not worth courting at all!'), the domestic advisor ('From my experience, Meron, the best way to avoid soiling a white tunic is to abstain from spilling anything on it!'), the relationship counsellor (Well, Dallamire, I personally would interpret the fact that she spat in your face when you tried to kiss her as an indicator that she is not attracted to you, but maybe you should seek a second opinion.'), and above all, the emergency homework consultant ('Damn it! Why does this always happen? You don't bribe me, or threaten me, or anything, yet I always succumb to your manly charms and fix your blasted essays even though you've had three weeks and ample spare time to finish them yourselves!').

'Do you mind?' asked Aubrey one afternoon, when he and Illa were seated at their usual library table.

'Do I mind what?'

'The way they treat you.'

'Who?'

'The boys in our class. The way they can't quite take you seriously. The way they only ever call you by your fief name. The way they shamelessly use you as a mine of information and advice but never offer anything in return.' A small crease appeared between Illa's eyebrows, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

'What exactly do you think I want from them, Aubrey?'

'I don't know… friendship? Respect, at least.'

'But they do respect me. If they didn't, they'd just go back to ignoring me like they did before, and they wouldn't take my advice the way they do. I know they treat me as a bit of an oddity, but so does everyone else, because I am!'

'Respect is one thing, Illa, but what about friendship. Can you honestly say that any of them are your friends? _Real_ friends?'

'No, I can't' said Illa reflectively, 'but it's not difficult to forgive them that. They've been brought up to see women only as lovers or wives; they don't understand that we can be friends too, so they don't quite know how to react towards me. It's not an unusual belief. You'd probably be the same, if it weren't for your father and the Lioness. With time, perhaps I can change that belief, but for now, I'm content to be the benevolent, super-human power they run to when anything goes wrong. I'm not as driven by maternal instinct as some girls, but gods all know they need a bit of looking after, the basket-cases!'

'So is that why you're going to go to the tavern with them tomorrow night, knowing full well that you'll be bored out of your wits because you don't drink, and probably scarred for life by their drunken antics? Just so that you can escort them home safely and defend their reputations when they are seen staggering around in some deserted corner of the palace?' Illa sighed.

'Yes, Aubrey. It sounds silly, but I guess that's why. Even if they're not exactly friends, I do care about them, and I would really rather not see any of them brought back to the palace in the hands of the Provost's guards. Even though I wish they would just stay sensibly at home, I'm not stupid. Regardless of what I say, they _will_ go out and get drunk. I'll do all I can to prevent there from being far-reaching consequences, but I have to accept that young men will sow their wild oats.'

'Let's just hope they don't sow them into too many pretty, common-born barmaids. That could cause a few problems.'

'Aubrey!' Illa reached across the table to slap the wrist lying nonchalantly on Aubrey's open textbook, but noticing something else, she stopped, picking up his hand and examining it instead.

'This bruise,' she said, softly caressing the fading blue mark with the pad of her thumb, 'don't tell me it's still there from midsummer.'

'You needn't sound so surprised,' huffed Aubrey, 'just because no one's ever laid into you with one of those gods-cursed Yamani fan things doesn't mean you should have no appreciation of how _hard_ they are! I've grown quite attached to that bruise, though. I don't quite know what I'll do when it eventually fades away.'

'Just come to me,' said Illa with a grin, 'and I'll see what I can do about getting it replaced!'

As she dipped her pen into the inkwell and began scribbling across her page with furious haste, Aubrey watched her intently. Yes, she had given him that bruise, but there were so many other marks she'd left on him, the sort of marks that you couldn't see.

And they sure as hell hadn't been inflicted by her _shukusen_.

A/N - firstly, I swear the use of the number 17 in the first paragraph was entirely unplanned (made me laugh, actually, after I'd already written all that stuff about 17 in my first authors note)… but they were the only rider group where I could confidently match the nickname with the number (I don't have _any_ of the books with me, and they're not in the library either, damn Norway!) hope you liked the chapter… not much of great importance, but a bit of different stuff… let me know if it came across well! Ok, so I have finally decided how to escalate to the climax… there could be up to 10 more chapters, but I'm not sure…. there's still quite a lot that needs to happen yet, though! Next chapter I believe may be the tavern scene, as there's a point I need to make that will be easier to illustrate in a scene conducted outside the palace, I think (oooh, I'm getting mysterious!) – and there could well be a bit of action (we call this 'lady muck expanding on her slightly one-dimensional writing style!')

Strange but true things discovered by lady muck #1 – old kiwi fruits (I mean really old, verging on rotten but not quite, just really soft and stuff) taste like guava (this is completely topical, as it was while writing the draft of this chapter that I made the startling discovery!)

Review, please… I have 98, and I'm hoping to make it to the big 100 with the posting of this chapter :-)

muchos kjærlighet

l.m. xoxo


	18. Chapter 18

A/N – and so we come to chapter 18, which begins with my original attempt at a bawdy drinking song… I'm sorry. I don't mean to be deliberately coarse, in fact, it goes against my nature, but sometimes it is fun! I should say that my lyrics were partly inspired by a line in one of the SotL books, I can't remember which, where Coram is reported to be singing a song, one verse of which had something to do with 'merchants and fishwives.' Enjoy

Chapter 18

'_He met her one evening down by the dock_

_Where merchants and fishwives on market day flock,_

_He gazed on her face like he'd entered a trance_

'_fore carefully guiding her hand down his-'_

'Enough!' bellowed Lady Illinen of Shadowflax. She had been growing steadily redder as Bardur of Dallamire's impromptu performance progressed, and, despite the liquor soaked surrounds of the Dancing Dove, her blush was not generated by the excessive consumption of alcohol. Dallamire looked for a moment as though he might comply with Illa's request for silence, but he obviously thought better of it. Swaying precariously as he stood atop the bar, he yowled '_pants!'_ in an off-key baritone, while his impressively intoxicated comrades roared with laughter, and his 'chaperone' banged her head into the table in frustration, a move that did not go unnoticed by the still relatively sober young man sitting beside her.

'Having fun?' asked Aubrey innocently. Illa sent him a withering glare, but her only other response to the question was to seize his ale tankard and take a long swig out of it. Aubrey watched this performance with a mixture of surprise, alarm and admiration.

'But you don't drink!'

'I drank champagne at the midsummer ball, didn't I?'

'Yes, but that's different. This is a tavern, and that is _not_ champagne! Home brewed ale is pretty strong stuff, milady.'

'Which is all the more reason why I should stop you from finishing your third glassful. If you keep on going the way you are, you'll be as drunk as the rest of them and I'll have no one to help me get the lot of you home tonight!' Aubrey had to admit she had a point. Judging by the state they were in already, by closing time his classmates would be more then even Illa could handle. Hailing a passing barmaid, he asked for two glasses and a pitcher of apple juice.

'You know,' said Aubrey conversationally, as he poured some of the golden liquid into Illa's glass, 'there really could be worse inns to be stuck in for the evening.' Illa sent him a disbelieving look, as her gaze strayed towards several of the students, who were now dancing an energetic jig on the table.

'I mean it,' he said, 'at least this place has a history.'

'How so?'

'It used to be where the Rogue, the King of Thieves, held his court.'

'What? Well in that case, we're getting out of here right now!'

'Relax, I said 'used to'. That was back in the days when George Cooper was the Rogue. No one knows where they meet now, and it's probably just as well.'

'_Baron_ Cooper? He was the King of Thieves?'

'Didn't you know that?'

'Why do you think I'm so surprised? Well, he certainly hasn't done things in the orthodox manner, then, has he. First, he somehow gains nobility after being the mortal enemy of the law for practically all his life, then he marries the first Lady Knight in over a century!'

'And now he's the realms spymaster.'

'Really? Wait, isn't the identity of the spymaster supposed to remain secret?'

'Yes,' said Aubrey smugly, 'but you forget who my father is.'

'How is your father, by the way?' Aubrey looked at Illa strangely.

'Er, fine. Mind telling me exactly _why _that's of particular importance right now, though?'

'Well… I was just wondering if he'd let any juicy political gossip slip in your presence lately. There doesn't seem to be much going on, at least judging by the reports that come in. But I'm only in the foreign office, and I'm not allowed in meetings, anyway. I thought you might have heard something interesting.'

'No, I'm afraid things really are as quiet as they seem on the surface. Poor girl, you got off to an exciting start with the Carthaki invasion, didn't you? But even you've got to admit that it would get pretty tiring if we had to repel an attack on our borders three times a week Don't worry, though. You have a knack for getting your nose stuck in where it doesn't really belong. I'll bet any money that the next time something happens, you'll be right in the middle of it again.' Neither of them knew that it would only be a couple of hours before Aubrey was proven right. But for now, they only turned and sighed as a crash signalled the collision of the effervescent Dallamire with a passing serving-girl, and the tray of drinks she was carrying fell to the floor.

o o o o o o o o

It was one of the quirks of the Tortallan climate that a pleasantly warm autumn evening could turn bitingly cold by the time darkness fell completely, and this particular night was a perfect example. When, at the first bell after midnight, the innkeeper booted out the last of his clients and closed the doors, an icy wind was moaning in the deserted streets of Corus. Illa, despite being garbed in both her own jacket and Aubrey's warm overcoat, which had been charitably donated to her cause, shivered as she looked around at the deserted alleyway. It seemed to be the sort of night where the hasty clouds scudding across the glacial half moon cast ominous shadows around each corner, and the bitter breeze played frightening tricks on your ears. Her drunken companions, however, did not seem to have noticed anything particularly menacing about the conditions, and were still singing bawdily as the group began wending its way back towards the palace.

'_Her hair it was of flaxen and her eyes of emerald blue,_

_I loved her from the tip of her nose to the ribbons on her shoe._

_But my maiden's heart she tore apart when she left for someone new, oh,_

_Toorali-oorali, ah-di-dah, toorali-oorali-ay._

_My lady love, my dear, my dove, has up-and-gone away!'_

'Oh dear,' said Aubrey, trying to contain a chuckle, 'I think Dallamire has exhausted his existing repertoire.'

'Do you mean to say,' asked Illa in a hushed tone, 'that now he's on to… _original material_?'

'I think I can safely say, milady, that we were a part of the first, and hopefully only, audience that this particular composition will ever enjoy. Emerald blue… I ask you!'

'At least it rhymes. Maybe Carlisle could learn a thing or two from him. His poetry is the sort of stuff that even the much-maligned Sir Nealan would slit his wrists over, and not because of its eloquent portrayal of the sadder side of life!' It was harder to be scared of the ghostly night when surrounded by a mob of raucous comrades and a very good friend, but Illa still wasn't sure. It seemed to be just a little too quiet in Corus tonight. She walked faster, eager to be out of the lower city and into the safety of the palace grounds.

They turned a corner, and in a sliver of light spilling across the street from the open doorway of another inn, Illa glimpsed a group of people up ahead, probably another congregation of late night revellers, but judging from their attire and the quality of their voices, most definitely commoners. She thought nothing of it, until the two parties drew nearer to each other, and she began to hear a bit of what they were saying.

'Will you look at that?

'Velvet tunics, all o' them, plush as you please.'

'An' they're not armed. Prob'ly blind drunk, too.'

'They're nobles, or I'm a donkey. An' you know what _they've_ been tellin' us.'

Suddenly, something came whizzing through the air, right past Illa's head. She turned to watch as it thudded into the wall behind her and stuck there, quivering. It was a knife.

That seemed to be the catalyst for the battle to begin. The commoners launched themselves at the group of young nobles, and once the nobles had realised they were under attack, they launched themselves at the commoners in turn. Contrary to their attackers allegations, some of the students _were_ actually carrying small daggers, and those that weren't entered into hand-to-hand combat with enthusiasm, but it was a messy, amateurish fight. Due to one party's drunkenness and the other's lack of training, more blows were missed than actually hit their targets, and uncannily, bursts of tuneless song still punctuated the brawling. Realising that his intoxicated year mates couldn't possibly win the fight alone, Aubrey pulled the knife of the wall behind Illa, and entered the fray, his sobriety making him at least three times as effective as his comrades in arms. Illa detached her shukusen from the sash around her waist, and unfolded it, but she hung back. She knew it would be useless to try and fight, but she didn't know where to run to for help. She was still going over her options when the decision was taken out of her hands. A surging advance from the commoners meant that the nobles conducted a hasty retreat, and suddenly, Illa was in the thick of the melee. Needless to say, she panicked, wildly swinging the fan in wide arcs around her, lucky to make contact with anything at all. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying too much attention to her, until:

'Well, well, what have we here.' The speaker was a giant of a man, his face covered by a mass of bushy beard, and he was suddenly much too close.

'You know, darlin', it ain't safe for a lass like yerself t' be out on the streets so late at night, in such troubled times.' Illa felt one colossal hand take a firm grip on her waist. Screaming in a most undignified manner, she wriggled out of his hold and began swinging her shukusen again, but at the same moment that she felt it cut through the flesh and bone of his upper arm, there came a stabbing pain in her left shoulder. Illa stumbled away from the man who now lay in a heap on the ground, with his right arm sitting several feet away from the rest of his body, and felt another sharp pain as her ankle wrenched. Then, out of the blue, she heard what seemed like the most welcome sound she could ever remember hearing: the clip-clop of the horses belonging to the provost's guards, who began moving amongst the warring crowd, separating each fighting pair. Sensing that she was safe now, Illa limped to the edge of the brawl, and added to the list of unladylike things she had done that evening by vomiting spectacularly into the gutter. She screamed again, as a pair of hands grasped her from behind, but turning, she saw that it was only Aubrey, who nursing a few of his own cuts and bruises sat down with his back to a wall and pulled her into his lap. This act of kindness, combined with the horrors of the past few minutes, was enough to send Illa to the verge of tears, but Aubrey held up a hand.

'Not now, all right? When we get back to the palace, you can cry all you want _and _use my shirt as a handkerchief, but right now you still need your wits about you.' He rubbed her shoulder in what was intended to be an encouraging manner, but was rewarded with a gasp, and a moaned 'don't touch the bloody shoulder!' It certainly was bloody, and Aubrey was more than a little alarmed when he saw how much blood had already spread to the front of Illa's dress.

'Just lie still here,' he said, 'and they'll get you up to Sir Nealan in no time.'

'You know,' said Illa drowsily, albeit through still-gritted teeth, 'It's at times like this that I wish I'd tried for my shield instead of shutting myself up in my room with a book.' Despite his anxiety, this statement made Aubrey laugh.

'Illa, you hate physical activity, you hate dirt, you hate horses, you hate war, and you hate getting hurt. I can honestly say that you'd be unlikely even to make it into the training master's office to register your interest without storming off home in a temper. If, by some amazing fluke, you managed to put in eight years of training and pass your ordeal, I swear you would be the _worst_ knight in Tortallan history.' Illa shut her eyes, desperate to be free of the biting pain in both shoulder and ankle.

'Nice to know I have such supportive friends,' was her last comment, before she let everything dissolve into blackness.

o o o o o o o o o o

Illa opened her own eyes, and let out a squeak as she saw the bright green ones in the face hovering only inches above hers.

'Ah, good,' said Sir Nealan in an annoyingly loud and cheerful voice, which matched the sunshine pouring through the windows, 'That's the last one of them awake, now, Your Grace.' Taking care not to disturb her heavily bandaged shoulder too much, Illa raised herself up on the pillows and looked around the infirmary. Her year mates were all there still, reclining on chairs, beds or the floor and consuming various souvenirs from the palace kitchens; most of them looking distinctly the worse for wear. And standing in the doorway was the imposing figure of Duke Gareth

'What are you all still doing here?' Illa asked the boys, 'last I checked, this was an infirmary; not dinner and a show!' Dallamire, his eyes bloodshot and his hair and tunic severely rumpled, came to sit on the end of Illa's bed.

'We just wanted to make sure you were alright,' he mumbled, somewhat apologetically, 'since it was our fault you got hurt.' Illa snorted.

'What are you talking about? It's my own fault that I was stupid enough to go wandering around in the lower city in the middle of the night!'

'Yes,' chipped in Strand of Carlisle, 'but you were trying to look after _us, _and if we hadn't been so, er…,' he cast a cautious glance at the Duke, '_inebriated_, you wouldn't have got involved in the fight in the first place. It was no place for a lady.' This was undeniably true.

'And,' added Sewell of Meron, 'we also want to thank you. If you hadn't stopped Naxen from drinking, he would've been just as useless as the rest of us, and we probably all would have ended up dead.' Another good point.

'Where _is _Aubrey, by the way?'

'Right here,' came a voice in her left ear. Illa turned and marvelled at the fact that she hadn't noticed him before. He was sitting as close to her cot as possible, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, his face was now lit up by a smile. Otto of Tasride rose and walked over to Illa.

'What we mean to say is that we owe you, and we feel kind of bad about the way we've been treating you.' He held out his hand.

'I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that I'd be proud to call you a friend.' Illa, an oddly triumphant smile breaking over her face, had just reached out to shake his hand when Duke Gareth cleared his throat loudly from the doorway.

'Sorry to interrupt,' he said, 'but I have a few questions for Lady Illinen, since I believe I would be right in saying that she is the only one who adequately remembers the events of last night.' Shamefacedly, the students filed out, muttering their abashed adieux, leaving Illa and Aubrey alone with the Duke.

'So, Illinen, you've got yourself into the thick of the action again, haven't you?'

'Yes Your Grace,' murmured Illa, looking down at her hands, 'but I swear it's not intentional. It just seems to… happen.'

'It's all right; I'm not here to punish you. I just want to know if you remember any details about the fight. It seems to have occurred under rather unusual circumstances.' Aubrey addressed his father.

'But it was a street brawl. They happen all the time, especially in the lower city, don't they?'

'Not like this,' said Duke Gareth, grim faced, 'it's years since such a large group of nobles has been attacked for no apparent reason. I'm just looking for a reason as to why it has happened now.'

'Well,' said Illa, thinking back on the events of the previous evening, 'I heard them talking, as they were coming towards us. They did make note of the fact that we were nobles, and relatively unarmed, then someone said 'you know what _they've_ been telling us', then one of them threw a knife – it just missed me, actually – and before I knew it, the fight was in full swing.'

'Who do you think '_they_' were, then?'

'I don't know; the speakers didn't elaborate. Some fool spreading propaganda in the lower city, no doubt.'

'These people that attacked you, though, who were they?'

'Oh, all men, middle aged, most of them. Not drunk, though. Definitely commoners and definitely Tortallan. Natives to the lower city, I'd guess, from the sound of their accents, but not of the Rogue. Their fighting was too sloppy.'

'Anything else?' Illa knitted her eyebrows in concentration.

'Well, yes, actually. There was this one man, I was fighting him with my _shukusen_; my Yamani fan. He said it wasn't safe for a girl like me to be out on the streets so late at night in such troubled times. I didn't understand that, though. Everything's been so quiet lately. Not what I'd call troubled times at all.'

'Did you ask him what he meant?'

'No, because he tried to grab me. He stabbed my shoulder, and I…' Suddenly, all the horrors of the bloody mess that had constituted the previous evening flooded back to Illa, and tears began pouring down her cheeks, '…I think I cut his arm off!' she wailed.

As Aubrey gallantly fulfilled his promise of offering his shirt as a handkerchief, the Duke smiled slightly. Although he was a politician, he was also a knight, and he understood the aftermath of 'seeing the kraken.' His son's nervous face looked up at him from over Illa's shoulder.

'Do you think there's more to this than there seems to be, Da?' The duke ran an agitated hand through his greying chestnut hair.

'I don't know, he said worriedly, 'I just don't know.'

A/N – I'm sorry, I just can't write fight scenes, but I needed this one in here for the purpose of furthering the plot, so you'll just have to excuse it! But review, please (see the cute little blue button in the corner… don't you just want to… CLICK ON IT!?)

Lady Muck xoxo


	19. Chapter 19

A/N – **Notice to members of Group Askew**… I know most of you will be reading this... If COTWC hasn't PM'd you guys yet, the email address is Please PM the group account to register your continued interest!

The commander

Chapter 19

'So let me get this straight,' muttered Charlie distractedly over the rim of his teacup, as Illa read reports at his desk the next afternoon, 'the sensible, mature, and annoyingly virtuous Illinen of Shadowflax spent last night in a tavern, then got beaten up by a mob of street hooligans on her way home and had to be carried unconscious into the infirmary by the prime minister's son.'

'In a nutshell, yes,' said Illa tersely, not looking up from the sheaf of papers spread before her.

'Oh, good,' said Charlie, a relieved smile breaking over his features, 'my ears are obviously cleaner than I though.'

'Or they're so dirty that you're still experiencing auditory hallucinations, and will continue to do so until you go to the infirmary yourself and reluctantly beg Sir Nealan to stick something very sharp and painful into them, a request which, I am sure, he will be happy to oblige.'

'That was not nice,' admonished Charlie, 'but your lack of sympathy has caused me no lasting harm. I feel that, with the highly amusing mental image of your good self dancing on a tabletop and singing bawdy songs fixed firmly in my memory forever, I have come out as the winner on this occasion.'

'Is a headless winner still a winner?' asked Illa irritably, as she whipped around in her chair and snapped her shukusen open, 'or didn't anyone tell you what I did to the man who tried to cross me in the fight?'

'Er, I must have missed that minor detail,' Charlie mumbled, eyeing the fan's sharp steel blades nervously, before glancing up at Illa's face and registering her determined expression, 'I'll bet it was good, though.' Illa sighed.

'You'd probably think so. I, however, can think of several slightly less glorifying but infinitely more adequate words to describe the situation. Anyway, I was the only sober out of the lot, so you can wave your highly disturbing mental image goodbye.' Suddenly, the bantering tone dropped out of her voice.

'You spoke with Duke Gareth, didn't you?'

'Mmm. I did'

'Any ideas?'

'Nothing much. You?'

'Many, most of which seem to revolve around a kidnap attempt on Dallamire orchestrated by the laundress whom his brother got pregnant and then would have nothing further to do with. In other words, I have constructed no theories that are even vaguely logical.'

'What was that bit about Dallamire's brother?'

'Charlie, you shameless gossip! This is not the time. Anyway, if you want to know, just ask the queen. She considers herself a bit of an expert on that particular scandal, actually.' Charlie tried and failed to disguise a snort of laughter as Illa glared pointedly at him.

'So,' he said, trying to drag himself back into a relatively serious vein, 'if you, I and Duke Gareth, the self proclaimed three most brilliant political masterminds in the realm, have all heard or seen all the evidence and _none_ of us have come up with a possible explanation, we must be missing something.'

'I'd worked that much out for myself, thank you very much,' said Illa crossly, 'but _no one_ could form a credible deduction based on what I saw and heard; at least, not the sort of conclusion that would stand up in court. There has to be more to it than that.'

'Does there _have_ to be?'

'Yes, of course there does! Those kind of things don't happen on a daily basis, you know.'

'Don't they?'

'Stop asking stupid questions. And no, they don't. Duke Gareth said it was _years_ since there had been such a large-scale attack on a group of unarmed nobles, even in the lower city.'

'That still doesn't mean there's anything particularly special about this one.' Illa gnashed her teeth in exasperation

'I know, but the warning that man gave me… I think it really did mean something, and I have a very bad feeling about all this.'

'Illa, if everyone went through life by only their feelings, there would be a lot more murders, a lot more illegitimate children, and a general state of complete anarchy.' He smiled slyly. 'All the same, I myself can't shake the feeling that you've been very bored since the enthralling pirate episode, and are looking for any way possible to spice things up a little round here.'

'Ah, but Charlie, if everyone went through life by only their feelings-'

'I know, I know. But, you know, even in the navy, it's not action, action, action the whole time, and in politics it appears to be even less so. You know that. You're supposed to _enjoy_ the in-between times; the only periods of your life where your hair is not greying at a frighteningly unnatural speed - not wish them away, girl!'

'You don't exactly seem to be aging before your time.'

'I have drunk from the fountain of eternal youth,' said Charlie elusively.

'Oh, get away with you!'

'Well,' he admitted, 'it _is_ also known as the Dancing Dove, but-'

'That stuff's not going to contribute to retaining your, er, heart-melting good looks and rakish charm, is it now?'

'Well, I suppose not. Where did you hear that, anyway?'

'What?'

'The bit about my heart-melting good looks and-'

'Oh, that rubbish,' Charlie looked slightly affronted; 'I heard it from Liesel, actually.' He smiled fondly.

'I always knew there was a good reason I fell in love with that girl.'

'I hope that's not the only reason you fell in love with her, ' said Illa sternly, trying to hide the giggles that fought to escape her, 'because at the time, she was actually quoting a particularly annoying and air headed court lady!' Charlie, face redolent with mock hurt, decided that it was time to steer this conversation back to its original topic.

'You know, honestly, Illa, the most likely conclusion is that it was just a bit of spur of the moment, anti-noble sentiment; maybe an attempted robbery, even. Or they might have been angry over some grave injustice that had been done to them in the past,' here it was Illa's turn to snort, 'Or,' he continued, 'they could have just, well, blown their tops. Men do that, sometimes.' Illa grinned.

'Hark who's talking!' Charlie at least had the good grace to look ashamed of himself.

'Look,' he said, 'Duke Gareth is having people make some further investigations, but unless any new information comes to light, or you remember something else from the attack, there's nothing any of us can do.' He spoke with the voice of reason, and Illa knew it. She returned reluctantly to a report from the Scanran border; given the now peaceful situation, it was inestimably dull.

She didn't really notice when the door to Charlie's rooms swung open, but the voice that was heard calling from the hallway did make her sit up and take notice.

'Charlie,' it called, 'I was thinking burgundy drapes for the sitting room – the moss-green ones you've got in here are hideous. Seeing as you wouldn't let me go down to the school in the lower city today-' Liesel's refugee school had opened several months before, and was now flourishing- 'I went to the market district instead. They have some lovely Yamani silks just in. Oh, hello Illa. What are you doing here?'

'I work here,' said Illa with a puzzled smile.' Liesel giggled.

'I keep forgetting that.' She walked over to Charlie and kissed his cheek, 'good day?'

'Interesting, at least,' he replied, 'your lovely friend here had been trying to feed me conspiracy theories all afternoon. I swear that girl can't understand the concept of taking something on face value.'

'I'm still in the room, you know,' said the 'lovely friend' irritably, 'and Liesel, did you say that Charlie wouldn't let you go down to your school?'

'Well, we heard about your attack last night. How are you, anyway?'

'I have a bit of a hole in my shoulder still, and some interestingly coloured bruises around my ankle, but apart from that, I'm fine. But Charlie, if you were so certain it was safe, why did you tell her not to go into the lower city?' A pink tinge appeared on Charlie's face.

'I was just, well, erring on the side of caution, I guess.'

'I knew that deep down, you agreed with me that something fishy really is going on,' said Illa triumphantly, 'but I also agree with you that for now, all we can do is wait.' She shuffled through the papers one more time, before neatening them and placing them in a corner of Charlie's desk. She stood up.

'Well, I think I'm finished for the day, at any rate. So long, lovebirds!'

'Wait, Illa. There's something I have to tell you first,' the tone of Charlie's voice told her that this was important. She sat back down, face turned expectantly towards him.

'Well, there actually is a bit of excitement that's come up,' he began, 'King Jonathan has decided that he'd like to betroth his oldest grandson to a princess from Maren. There's a diplomatic contingent leaving in two weeks. Since things are pretty quiet in my department here, he's asked me to lead it.' Liesel showed no reaction - it obviously wasn't news to her - but Illa's eyes were shining with anticipation.

'Am I coming?' He looked at her uncomfortably.

'Actually, you're not. I wish I _could_ bring you, I've no doubt you would be very useful. But when I asked, I was told that it couldn't really be _that_ difficult to negotiate a marriage contract, and that it was more important for you to stay here and get on with your studies.' Illa was muttering furiously under her breath, no doubt cursing some unfortunate creature into oblivion – most likely the king.

'How long have you known about this?'

'Only since last night.'

'Why didn't you tell me when I first got here, then, rather than letting me moan about the dullness of the realm for hours.'

'I knew you wouldn't be able to concentrate after I divulged a gem like that, and there was some work I really needed you to get done.'

'Well, now that the work's finished, can I throttle you, for going off on an adventure without me?'

'Please don't,' said Liesel quickly, 'he was just starting to grow on me!' Illa chuckled slightly.

'But you,' she said, 'won't you miss him?'

'No.'

'_No?_' Liesel looked at her friend somewhat apologetically.

'No. I'm going with him.' This was a bit of a bombshell.

'What about your school, though?'

'We'll only be gone a couple of months, and I have a lot of very capable staff members. I assure you, it won't suffer in my absence.'

'But this whole business _will _create a few scandals, don't you think?'

'Not if we're betrothed,' it was Charlie who spoke this time. Illa gasped.

'Does that mean… does that mean you're getting _married_?'

'Well, that _is_ the generally accepted interpretation of the term 'betrothed'.' Squealing, Illa leapt off her seat and began a spectacularly wild one-person waltz around the room, stopping only to hug both of her friends tightly, and mutter:

'And if you even _think _about tying the knot while you're over there and depriving me of my enjoyment and my position of bridesmaid, I will personally see to it that both your heads are shipped back home in picnic baskets!'

'So nice to hear such profound congratulations,' said Charlie, as he swept Liesel into a dramatic kiss.

'All right, all right, I get the picture,' grinned Illa cheekily, when they came up for air, 'I really am going now. I want to find Aubrey for a reprise of the victory dance.'

'Oh,' said Charlie, as she walked out the door, 'you might be well advised to look up his father first. Duke Gareth wishes to speak with you.'

o o o o o o o o o o o o

When Illa arrived in his study, Duke Gareth was looking out the window with a meditative expression on his face.

'Have you found out anything more about… about last night, your grace?' asked Illa, before he even had the chance to voice a greeting.

'No,' said the duke, smiling slightly, as Illa blushed at her own forwardness, 'but these things take time. Anyway, that's not why you're here.'

'Why _am_ I here, then?'

'I take it you've heard about Sir Charlemagne's commission, Illinen.'

'Yes. I would have loved to go with him, but I understand that it's not possible.' The duke nodded kindly.

'But you would surely also understand that it would be _fairly_ difficult for you to work as his clerk while he is not here?'

'Yes, your grace, I had thought about that.'

'I have a proposition for you.' Illa's brow furrowed. Whatever Duke Gareth was about to say was not what Illa had been expecting.

'I don't want the brightest young political mind in Tortall staying out of the loop just because her employer decided to have a holiday. I'd like to make a position for you in my department. No clerk duties, as I'm sure you already have enough to be going on with in your studies, but just in a purely advisory capacity.' Illa was stunned.

'Thank you, your grace,' she stammered, 'this really does mean a lot to me.'

'Goddess bless, girl, I'm not doing it for your sake! I'm doing it for mine. As far as I can see, anyone who can stop a war just by falling out of a cupboard is well worth listening to.'

'In that case,' said Illa tentatively, 'would you mind terribly much if I began advising you right now?' The duke grinned.

'No time quite like the present, is there?'

'Well, your grace, Sir Charlemagne told me that you had people looking further into the events of last night. This is a good idea, but it has to be done carefully, so that the investigations are not out in the open, so to speak. If there was more to this than there seemed to be, then the people behind it will probably strike again, potentially leaving us with more clues and information. We don't want to raise a panic, however much our instincts tell us that we should be warning people. That might stop the 'terrorist' activities for a while, but it won't help us solve things. Patience is not one of my virtues, and it goes against my wont to say this, but we should just bide our time.' The duke nodded thoughtfully, but the loquacious Illa was already speaking again.

'But for now, your grace, I really must be going. Aubrey and I have a victory dance to do.' Duke Gareth decided that it was probably in his best interests not to ask questions here, so he merely shook Illa's hand and waved her out of the room.

'Yes,' he murmured, as he turned back towards the window, 'yes, I think she'll do quite nicely.'

A/N – hope you enjoyed the chapter… I just have a couple of questions. Please respond promptly, as I need some answers before I can write the next chapter.

1 – what sort of uniforms do the riders wear?

2 – what do 'guild masters' do, and are they noble or common?

3 – do we want a wedding in the story (not exactly sure who's it would be, yet), or should any matrimony just be implied?

4 – why haven't you clicked that cute little blue review button in the bottom left hand corner of this page?

l.m xoxo

ps- i just noticed that duke gareth has had the 'last word' in two consecutive chapters... not that that is of any importance whatsoever... it's just something i noticed!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N** – Well, well… chapter 20. I was about to say 'we're into double figures now' when I realised that double figures actually begin at 10! I have been on holidays for too long. Wait… No! I take it back… I really didn't mean that! Please don't sent me back to the hideous torture that is school (or, more to the point, the hideous torture that is waking up at 6 am every morning!)

Chapter 20

The carriages, packed at last, stood waiting in a long line outside the palace gates; the horses were stamping and snorting impatiently, and the members of the delegation were saying their final farewells, as Illa pulled Liesel around a corner and faced her with a resigned expression.

'I guess you're really going, then, aren't you?' she sighed. Liesel tried to look suitably blasé, but her twinkling eyes betrayed her.

'I guess I am.'

'I'm so jealous, you know. Ever since I found out about the atrocious use of slave labour on the big plantation farms, I've wanted to get over to Maren and give the king a piece of my mind.'

'It's probably just as well you're _not_ going, then. I doubt that would be the friendliest way to begin negotiation over a marriage contract. Anyway, it's not as if you won't accomplish anything yourself while we're away. You've got a fascinating conspiracy to unravel. What, with you acting as the annoying little voice in our prime minister's ear, we could arrive home to a completely unrecognisable realm!'

'You flatter me,' said Illa, face breaking into a grin, which she quickly stilled, adding, 'so, did you tell your parents?'

'About leaving with the delegation, or about getting engaged?'

'Well, either, really'

'I didn't see how I could avoid it. I think they would probably have noticed if I'd just disappeared for two months. And if I hadn't told them that Charlie and I were betrothed, they would never have let me go. Of course, they would really prefer that we were married already, but I think one of my younger aunts convinced my father that close enough was good enough. It didn't suffice to stop my mother from issuing several dire warnings about the threat to my virtue, though,' she finished with a giggle.

'Ah, yes. That was the other thing I was meaning to ask you,' said Illa breezily, 'Can we be sure that you, oh paragon of decorum and propriety, will return to us with said virtue fully intact?' Liesel gasped.

'Illinen of Shadowflax! What do you think me, to ask a shameless question like that?'

'Well, I suppose 'a scheming court lady who's taking her illicit lover on a romantic little sojourn to Maren so that she can bed him away from the prying eyes of the rest of Corus' is the wrong answer, so I might employ my right to silence, here.' Liesel glared.

'No, seriously, Liese, I didn't mean that,' said Illa quickly, 'It's just that I want you do be careful. I know Charlie's a good man, and that he really does want to marry you, but you know his reputation as well as I do; you know that he's used to getting what he wants and getting it without much effort. I may not feel as strongly as you do that a woman should save herself for marriage, but I know you would be disappointed with yourself if you allowed yourself to be seduced in such a manner, even by your affianced.' Liesel let out a snort, but laid a kind hand on her friend's arm.

'Illa, it's all right. I can look after myself,' she took a deep breath, 'so you can set your mind at rest about my 'virtue'. Honestly, we're both just looking forward to having some time to plan the wedding without either of our dear mothers yelling suggestions over our shoulders until we're half deaf!' Illa laughed, knowing she needn't have worried. Liesel's morals were a force to be reckoned with.

'Just make sure I get a nice bridesmaid's dress, at any rate!' A whistle sounded, alerting onlookers to the convoy's imminent departure. The friends embraced each other tightly, then, all too soon, Charlie, with a friendly shake of Illa's hand, took possession of his fiancée and bundled her into the nearest carriage. As the wheels began to turn and Liesel leaned out the window to wave goodbye, a familiar voice shouted after her.

'I look terrible in blue, and peonies make me sneeze!'

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Though the departure of Liesel and Charlie left a bit of a hole in Illa's social life, the interestingly developing political situation more than made up for it. There had been two more 'incidents' in the lower city since the students' fight, and Illa had no doubt that they were somehow connected. A group of first year pages, enjoying a free day in town, had had stones thrown at them, and several young noblewomen had been spat on and verbally abused as they browsed in one of the markets. These mysterious happenings were creating a culture of fear among the nobles, many of whom were now unwilling to travel outside the palace. In fact, the only people who seemed to be enjoying the state of affairs were the ever-flirtatious squires, who had been called upon to act as armed escorts to any ladies who chose to venture forth into the city, and were therefore in their element. Although neither of these attacks had left any clue as to either the identity or the motives of the culprits, Illa guessed that, with the increased activity of the criminals, it was only a matter of time until an explanation came to light. She said as much to Duke Gareth one afternoon, when she dropped in to his office after her classes had finished for the day.

'It's obvious that they're leading up to something big,' she said. 'Throwing pebbles at pages and calling noblewomen names is all very well, but it's not particularly dangerous, it's just annoying. Kind of like a reminder that they're still there. I think they're just keeping us on our toes, or maybe they don't dare do anything more now that the palace is on such high alert.

'The strangest thing,' said the Duke, 'is that no witnesses have come forward. Naturally, since the attack on the students was conducted in a deserted alleyway in the middle of the night, you wouldn't expect there to be any, but those ladies were set upon in the middle of the market, for Mithros' sake! _Hundreds_ of people must have seen, yet not one of them has said anything about it. Of course, you do occasionally get commoners who dislike interceding on behalf of the nobility, but the idea of justice does appeal to most of them.'

'Anti-noble sentiment does seem to be at a bit of a high at the moment,' concurred Illa, 'and I think that I might have an inkling of what is behind it, but until someone speaks out, I can't justify voicing my suspicions.'

'I'd like you to voice them anyway, Lady Illinen,' said the Duke unexpectedly, 'as long as they don't leave this office. I would like to know what you think, even if your theory cannot be proven.' Illa closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

'Well, your grace,' she began slowly, 'I suppose you've heard of the word 'republic'…'

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

One stormy afternoon, when midwinter was once again approaching, Illa and Aubrey could be found sitting in armchairs before Illa's fireplace, determinedly not talking to each other. Both were in a particularly bad mood, due to the fact that Aubrey, the previous evening, had bet Carlisle that Dallamire wouldn't have the nerve to kiss Lady Blanche of Durham Point, and had come off as the loser. To put it more precisely, though, Aubrey was in a bad mood because his pockets were now three gold nobles lighter, while Illa was in a bad mood partly because she disapproved of gambling in general, and partly because she couldn't understand how anyone could possibly be stupid enough to bet against Dallamire, who would kiss anything that stood still long enough. The knock on the door came as an extremely welcome diversion, as Aubrey was beginning to progress to that annoying stage of mutual silence, when one party begins scuffing his feet on the floor or drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair in an attempt to provoke a reaction out of the other party. Before Illa had even reached the door, however, it sprang open, and both Izmae, the red horse-emblem of the Riders rearing proudly on her brown tunic, and Raif, now a fourth year page and still attired in scarlet and gold, tumbled into the room. Raif in particular appeared to be in a particularly excitable mood.

'I have something to tell you!' He cried.

'Me too,' said Izmae, a little more quietly. Illa smiled.

'Raif first, then.'

'Illa, guess what!'

'I couldn't possibly.'

'I think I know-' began Aubrey, but Iz cut him off.

'Shut up, Aubrey,' she said charitably. 'What are you doing here, anyway?'

'I figured that it was as good a place as any to be surly and unpleasant.'

'A fine point.'

'Shut up both of you,' said Illa, 'I want to hear what Raif has to say.'

'Well,' Raif began, 'it all started when-'

'Get on with it,' groaned three bored-sounding voices. Raif grinned.

'Guess what!'

'_Raif!_'

'Alright, alright,' he paused and took a deep breath, 'Duke Gareth has asked me to be his squire!' This was met by a stunned silence.

'I thought he wanted to take Masbolle,' said Illa, when she regained her powers of speech.

'Masbolle got an offer from someone who would take him out on border patrol. He accepted that first.'

'Well, he definitely seems to have inherited his parents' love of chopping up Scanrans,' said Aubrey.

'So they tell me,' agreed Raif sagely.

'But Raif,' asked Illa, 'do you mean to say that Duke Gareth didn't seem to mind that your greatest physical talent is playing badminton?'

'Not at all… Hey! That was uncalled for. I'll have you know that I can wield a sword as well as the rest of them. And,' he added smugly, chest puffing with self-importance, 'His Grace said that an intelligent squire would be more use to him than one who could annihilate an entire army with his bare hands!'

'Isn't it sad to see that my father's senility has progressed so much that his definition of intelligence has stooped to such a level?' asked Aubrey of no one in particular.

'Aubrey,' began Illa sweetly, 'why don't you and Raif have a game of chess over there in the corner while I talk to Iz.' Aubrey glared reproachfully at his friend. That was very low. Everyone present knew that Raif, who had been trained by his maternal grandsire, Jimbert of Kinalung (one of the finest players in Tortall), would take less than ten minutes to completely demolish Aubrey's self-esteem forever. But there was nothing he could do. An enthusiastic Raif was already dragging the chessboard and pieces out of their resting place at the back of a forgotten cupboard, and Aubrey didn't want to risk inciting Illa's wrath for the second time in one day.

'Great Mithros; two Shadowflaxes in his service,' he muttered to himself as he took a seat opposite Raif at the small table beside the window, 'what on earth was my father thinking?'

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

'So, how's life in the Riders, then?' asked Illa, once the boys were absorbed in their game and she and her sister were ensconced in a sofa on the other side of the room.

'It's still wonderful; still better than I imagined!'

'That must be a relief. I was worried that it couldn't possibly live up to your expectations. Tell me, what's the best thing about it, then?' Izmae was silent for a moment.

'Well, the training and the lessons are fantastic, of course, but the best thing?' she paused, 'I'd have to say the best thing is the diversity of the people. There are a few nobles, but the majority of Riders are commoners. They come from so many different backgrounds and places, and they each bring something special of their own to the rest of us. I never really knew any commoners before, and honestly, they've taught me more about life than everyone else combined.'

'I suppose,' reflected Illa, 'that the people we usually make a point of ignoring are often the ones who can teach us the most valuable lessons. But what was the important thing you had to tell me?'

'Oh, that.'

'What? You mean to say it wasn't as important as you made out?'

'Well, the thing is, I'm not really sure. It was just something I heard in the Rider mess at lunchtime the other day, and I didn't understand it. I thought you might.'

'And,' Illa prompted.

'What's a republic?' Illa stared open-mouthed at her sister.

'Well, it's a hypothetical... Wait! Can you tell me the exact context in which the word was mentioned.' Iz shrugged.

'Well, it was Yaram Joiner who said it; his family are carpenters. He was talking to Melis Pratch, and he just asked her if she'd heard that the Guild-masters wanted a republic, that's all.'

'That's all?' Suddenly, everything that had been troubling Illa for the past month or so seemed to make a lot more sense.

'Oh… _goddess_! I have to go and see Duke Gareth!' And without further ado, Illa flung a cloak over her shoulders and hastily exited the scene. Aubrey, who had in fact heard most of the conversation, was only a second slower in reacting. He upended most of the chess pieces as he jumped up and followed Illa.

'A hypothetical _what_?' asked Izmae as he dashed past her.

'A hypothetical situation in which young and impertinent riders are seen and not heard,' Aubrey replied, as he, in turn, disappeared out the door. Grumbling to herself, Izmae turned to Raif, who was gazing with solemn face at the now chaotic chessboard.

'I was winning, too,' he said sadly.

'Well, I don't think Aubrey will be back for a rematch any time soon, but how about I take his place,' Iz offered, 'after all, Illa has to come back here at some stage, if she intends to sleep tonight. I can wangle some answers out of her then.'

**A/N** – this was a bit of a weird chapter… it kept jumping from place to place, and I'm not really sure _why_ I added the scene about Liesel and Charlie leaving, but I did. Let's just say it was for the sake of character development, or something useful like that. Anyway, now the main problem has finally surfaced. Sorry for those of you who wanted a 'blood and gore climax', but MHOW is what I like to call an 'epic political drama,' which means less blood and gore and more intelligent comments. You can at least be glad that I put one bloody and gory chapter in… there probably won't be much more, though.

And, if either **cry of the wolf child** or **eaglefire** are reading this, please log on to the group askew account and add your name suggestions to the 'what to name our heroine?' document. You two are the only ones we're waiting on.

REVIEW PLEASE

l.m xoxo

PS – did you know that 'melis' means 'icing sugar' in Norwegian? I guess not…

PPS – a pearl of philosophical wisdom from lady muck – 

'A bad person is just someone who has a different definition of the word good.'

I was thinking about right and wrong the other day, and I figured that really, it's all relative. The way an individual defines those two words will affect how they are seen by the world, even though it doesn't really change their opinion of themselves Oh, and as to my quote, well if someone famous has said the same thing but in better words, let me know… that's just the way it came into my head. And it's a damn sight better than the time in psychology class last year when I was branded a nazi because I tried to say the same thing but couldn't articulate myself properly… fairydust, you'll remember that day well!

Sorry… not quite sure why I felt obliged to add that, but just have a think about it! xoxo


	21. Chapter 21

A/N - Hi! I'm back... did you miss me? Sorry about the slow update. It's not that I am busy or that I'm out of ideas, it's just that I'vechanged host families, and I don't have as much computer access as I previously did. But here I am, and here is drumroll chapter 21! Nothing really happens in this chapter, but it explains a lot of what's going on to readers who had become a little confused. It's actually kind of a weird politics/fluff overlap!

Chapter 21

Half an hour later, just as Raif was making the final, victorious move in his and Izmae's twelfth chess game, a thundercloud-faced Illa returned to her rooms, with a cautious-looking Aubrey in tow. Izmae looked up, glad of a distraction from her abysmal performance.

'No joy, then?' she asked with a grin, utterly heedless of the frantic hushing motions Aubrey was making behind Illa's back.

'He wasn't even there,' said Illa sourly, though it seemed as if she were speaking more to Aubrey – or herself – than to Iz. 'He's gone to Naxen, and is expected to be there for at least a month. No one saw fit to tell _me_ that,' she puffed herself up in disgruntled-hen fashion, 'before I went rushing off like a mad thing!'

'I told you, we didn't know he was going,' said her long-suffering friend, in a tone which suggested that he had voiced this particular denial several times already, 'actually, I'm kind of worried that something might be really wrong.'

'Come on, Aubrey,' said Izmae bracingly, 'you know he would have told you if it was anything serious. It's probably just that whichever of your idiot brothers is supposed to be in charge at the moment has accidentally set fire to all the barns destroying a whole years worth of crops and imposing a very hungry winter on the villagers, and your father has been called in to sort out the resulting crisis.' However well-meant this rather tactless platitude was, it didn't seem to offer Aubrey much comfort. He grimaced as Illa began to speak again.

'But the fact remains that he is not here, at a time when his presence would be of somewhat vital importance.'

'So? Write him a letter. There's no need to get into a state.'

'Oh, I most certainly shall write him a letter,' replied Illa in a dangerously sweet voice, which rose several hysterical decibels with each syllable as she continued, 'but he won't arrive at Naxen for another four days, and even if I write my letter and send it off tonight, it won't get there until at least three days after he does, and he'll have to sort out whatever it is that he went there to do in the first place, and then he'll probably send another letter back asking me to explain the first letter, because what I want to tell him is classified information so I can't write it down plainly. That all adds up, thus he probably won't be here for at least a fortnight, and only then if he trusts me and deems the situation serious enough to warrant his return, so if you were in my position, Mr Naxen, I'm pretty sure you would be in a bit of a state too!' As Illa paused to take a much needed breath, Aubrey seized the opportunity to ask,

'If you wouldn't mind condescending to tell me, what exactly is your position?'

'I thought you knew. Isn't that why you followed me in the first place?'

'No, I followed you because I interpreted the look on your face as meaning serious bodily harm for whoever had been unwise enough to upset you this time, and although I wholeheartedly agree with you that there are some people in this place who deserve it, I didn't think your reputation could survive attempted murder. In fact, I'm rather glad my father wasn't there. He may get on my nerves sometimes, but at the end of the day, I like him much better with his head attached to his shoulders!' Illa smiled in spite of herself. In times like this, Aubrey seemed to be the only on who could cheer her up. About to divulge her latest and greatest discovery, she caught sight of her siblings, whom she had almost forgotten were in the room.

'Iz, Raif; out!' she ordered. 'I mean it. And don't pout, Izmae. I've just saved you from your forty-seventh straight defeat!' Raif scampered off without a murmur, but Iz, scowling, stayed put.

'No, it would only be the thirteenth,' she corrected grumpily, 'and that's not fair, Illa. I'm the one who told you about all this in the first place.'

'Yes, I'm very grateful, and I would ask you to let me know if you ever hear the word mentioned again.'

'But in that case, I have a right to know what it means.'

'Be that as it may, I am not telling you, and don't go asking anybody else, either. Just believe me when I say that this could be dangerous knowledge, and the fewer people who are possessed of it, the better. Now, be off with you.' Wearing a mutinous expression, and without so much as a goodnight, Izmae followed Raif out the door.

As soon as she was gone, Aubrey turned to Illa, wearing the crooked, teasing smile that, in recent times, seemed to ignite a confusing babble of emotions in his friend.

'So, the Right Honourable Lady Shadowflax has deemed my humble self worthy of receiving this dangerous knowledge, then?'

'Don't push it. Anyway, if you'd actually listened in some of our lectures, you'd understand anyway.'

'Illa,' said Aubrey indulgently, taking a seat on the sofa 'my dear Illa. You have always been something of an idealist, but I thought you knew how to separate the possible from the impossible.' Illa made a face, and Aubrey patted the empty space beside him invitingly.

'Besides,' he continued as Illa sat down obligingly on the offered patch of sofa, 'if I'd listened then, I would have stolen your thunder. And I'm sure you'll make it a hundred times more interesting and dramatic that those dried up old codfish. Not to mention you make a much better pillow,' he added, looping a friendly arm around her. Illa stiffened. While this might have seemed like typical Aubrey behaviour to the casual observer, Illa could sense something different in the firm tenderness of his hold, despite his light tone of voice. While such differences were not entirely unwelcome, they made her feel rather uneasy, and it took a great deal of self-restraint to prevent her from running away and barricading herself with something, as she had been known to do on at least one previous occasion. If she had chanced to look up at Aubrey's face, however, the expression upon it would probably have been enough to send her flying off the sofa at a rate of knots, self-restraint be damned.

The lines of devotion written all over his countenance would have been as fuel to her flight. It wasn't that Illa was afraid of affection, exactly, only that she rather dreaded losing control; of surrendering to her feelings and abandoning judgement and reason. Though she didn't think she really needed to worry about that now. The most exasperatingly rational part of her brain supposed that it was impossible to surrender to one's feelings in such a manner if one was not entirely certain as to precisely what one's feelings were. Thus could she lean comfortably into her friend's embrace and recline her head on his shoulder, enjoying the safe, protected, carefree feeling his touch gave her, without a further thought regarding the possible consequences or interpretations of her behaviour. Yes. That made _complete_ sense, didn't it? Illa had always felt that logic was one of her strong points.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and they sat like that for what could have been quite a long time, though neither party was in a fit state to provide an educated estimate as to the exact amount of sand that had slipped through the hourglass. Then suddenly, Aubrey remembered why he was there in the first place.

'Weren't you going to explain something to me?' His voice came out rather muffled.

'Why are you talking like that?'

'Well, some of your hair seems to have escaped from its pins and found its way into my mouth.' Illa giggled, producing a hairpin from her pocket and proceeding to tame the rogue strands.

'Lucky I washed it this morning, then. Any other day, and you might have come across the sort of creature that you pray not to meet on dark nights! But yes, I was going to tell you about republics.' Aubrey closed his eyes wearily and sighed in a long suffering way.

'More highly educated, political jargon. Why couldn't we, just for once, have a nice, simple conversation about turtles. But he desisted, as the top of Illa's head seemed to be giving him a very disapproving look.

'Just as long as it can pass for a bedtime story,' he added with a yawn.

'Well,' Illa began, settling herself comfortably against him again, 'the strangest thing about trying to explain a republic to you is that such a thing doesn't really exist. It is, as I almost told Iz before, a hypothetical situation, or to be more specific, a hypothetical political system created several hundred years ago by scholars in... oh, I think it was Carthak, but never actually put into practice anywhere in the world, as far as I'm aware.'

'So you mean to say,' said Aubrey slowly, 'that these overly pretentious guild masters wish to change the way Tortall is governed?'

'You think that's bad, wait until you hear exactly what a republic involves,' responded Illa grimly. 'The primary idea is that the country is run by the people, for the people. Thus the head of state is a commoner, elected to his office by the votes of his fellow citizens, in a similar way to that in which village headmen are chosen now. The leader achieves their rank by virtue of their suitability for office rather than their birthright. In fact, it is a rather admirable system, universally much fairer than the one we have now, and if I were a commoner, I would wholeheartedly support its institution.'

'But?' Aubrey prompted.

'But I'm not a commoner.'

'And therefore?' Illa disengaged herself from her friend and held him at arm's length.

'Aubrey, don't you understand? A republic makes no provision for the nobility. They get their way, and we lose everything but our pride, and maybe even that, too.' Aubrey looked very shocked for a moment, but soon recovered to replace that expression with a sly smirk.

'What's that look for?' asked Illa with some trepidation.

'I just don't think I've ever heard Miss 'Equal-Rights-For-All' sound so snobbish before. Is that your only reason for opposing this plot?' Illa cuffed him over the head indignantly.

'Of course not! If I thought that this changeover could be pulled off properly, I wouldn't mind losing my title that much. It's not like it would put much of a dint in my plans of world domination, anyway. But it would face the realm with a lot of difficulties. Everything would have to be changed; from ownership laws, to government positions, to taxation arrangements, to the whole legal system, and it'd be nigh on impossible to change all those things at once. Any transition would be long and messy, and I just have some very pessimistic suspicions about what the eventual outcome of all this would be.

I know the sort of people who become guild masters, and they tend to be the greedy, power-hungry types. I'm almost certain that once they've wrestled power from the monarchy, they'd be far more inclined to quarrel over it amongst themselves than to organise it into a fair democracy. Instead of a republic, we'd end up with an ugly and unstable dictatorship. The fact that they've done all their plotting and planning on the sly and obviously intend to ascend to power by force just proves to me that their motives are on the shady side. If they had been open and honourable about their intentions, and actually sat down and discussed their grievances with the king, instead of sneakily waiting for the opportunity to strike, I might be slightly more sympathetic towards their cause.

On top of that, right now is a ridiculous time to put a new system of government in place. That's the sort of thing you do when your country is losing wars, in the throes of an economical crisis, and with a completely unsuitable ruler at the helm. Of present-day Tortall, the reverse is true. The economy is booming, even with the events on the south coast last year, King Jonathon is arguably the best ruler we've ever had, and our diplomatic forces are doing such a good job that we're not even _fighting_ in any wars at the moment! It's just silly to think about changing things now.' She paused, and Aubrey, finally sensing an opening, cut in.

'The rebels mustn't have thought this through, though, or they'd never have been stupid enough to continue. They can't possibly think that the nobility will take the loss of their lands and titles lying down,' he said incredulously.

'Mmm,' Illa agreed, 'and even if they did get their republic, every few months they'd have a different fief knocking on their door making a claim on the throne. It'd be certain to push Tortall to civil war, and our warmongering neighbours would swoop in like vultures, for no country can fend off an attack on its borders while it's fighting itself internally.'

'Except for Scanra,' Aubrey reminded her.

'Yes, well, Scanra's a special case. I guess because their state of civil unrest is so constant, they've just had to learn to fight real wars at the same time. Mind you,' she added with a grin, 'they mostly lose, though!'

'So you're saying that if these delinquents got their way, we'd end up divided among our greedy conquerors, with our previous might but a mere memory?'

'Exactly. Although,' Illa looked thoughtful, 'I suppose there is one way in which they could be certain to prevent any noble opposition.'

'And what's that?' asked Aubrey nervously. Illa shrugged.

'Mass execution.'

'What!'

'You heard me. It's not as if it would be a completely unexpected course of action, I mean, the royal family and most of their close connections would be almost certain to snuff it anyway, it would just be too risky to keep them alive, though it's probably not the most auspicious start for a system claiming equal rights for all!'

'Er, would you consider my family as having close connections to the crown?'

'Most definitely.' Aubrey blanched.

'I didn't realise it was this serious.'

'Of course it's bloody serious! Why do you think I was in such a state about not being able to see your father today. I don't want to worry anyone else with this until I can tell him what I think is going on!'

'Not even Thayet?'

'Especially not Thayet. I think that despite her calm and diplomatic façade, she might feel slightly too inclined to ride out into the city and start launching arrows at people if she knew that the crown was under threat, and she'd probably take the Lioness with her, which would mean that by nightfall, there would probably no longer be any Tortallan citizens to govern. Even if she didn't feel compelled to act immediately, I wouldn't want to worry her. And she'd certainly tell the king, and I'm not sure that it would be a good idea for him to know just yet.'

'It was just a suggestion, and I'll see what I can do about contacting father, but honestly, my letter won't reach him any faster than yours, Illa.' Illa stood up hastily.

'Speaking of letters, I'd better make a start on mine now, if you wouldn't mind vacating the premises.'

'Don't worry,' Aubrey replied, 'I'm going. I need some time alone to contemplate my imminent demise.' Illa smiled slightly, and reached up to place a comforting arm around his neck.

'Oh, ye of little faith,' she mocked, 'don't you believe that we can fix everything before it all gets out of hand?' Aubrey gave a fairly sceptical grunt in reply.

'Me neither,' agreed Illa, 'but we have to have a shot. These nobles aren't going down without a fight!' Aubrey half expected her to break into an inspirational war-chant, but before she had the opportunity to do so, he bent down and kissed her cheek.

'G'night Illa,' he mumbled, and before she could catch more than a glimpse of his expression, he shook himself free of her hold and strode out the door, leaving the object of his affections alone with her reddening face, all thoughts of the task at hand banished momentarily from her mind.

**A/N** – oh...fluff...sort of...um, yes... well it was probably very dodgy fluff, but hopefully it will at least partially satisfy all those reviewers (you know who you are) who have been rabidly requesting romance. oooh, alliteration. that was special. review please, and in your reviews, please tell me what aubrey will end up doing (as in a career) because although I think it would be fun to make him a turtle trainer, he has no real experience, and it would be just _slightly_ unrealistic. so any suggestions are most welcome. oh, and anyone who enjoyed this and has not read chapter 1 of 'Eldorne's Atonement' by Group Askew, I wrote that as well! check it out!

l.m xoxo


	22. Chapter 22

A/N – Here I am again... a while since the last update, but you'll have to get used to that. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my frequent lifesaver, as my english vocabulary is slowly shrinking, and to wikipedia and spellcheck. There's a bit of a twist in the plot here... I wonder what you think of it. Oh, and be grateful... this is a fairly long chapter (with a bloody long A/N at the end, too, I might add!)

Chapter 22

Two weeks went past. Not a whisper was heard from Duke Gareth; much less did he actually present himself in the capital to answer the summons. Illa was at her wits' end. She was finding it very tempting to reveal her discovery, yet was repressed by the knowledge that such revelations would only make matters worse. Not to mention, the fact that the Duke of Naxen and his son were the only ones she really felt should be burdened with the news at this point in time, and a part of her regretted telling even Aubrey. Something had caused him to act very strangely the evening what the truth had been divulged to him, and it was a great deal more comforting to attribute this behaviour to the impact of the dreadful tidings than to anything of a more permanent and deep-rooted nature. She told herself that, as had been the case with Charlie, the perceived prospect of his imminent demise had warped his wits and impaired his judgement, and thus, felt herself obliged to avoid any further confrontations of that ilk in order to give Aubrey time to regain his composure.

This avoidance, although its motives sound rather dignified when inscribed by the noble pen, actually manifested itself in rather ridiculous form, and would have greatly amused any spectator who happened to catch sight of the stern and sensible young Lady Shadowflax ducking around corners, behind curtains and under tables, and making pathetically weak-sounding excuses. But if her elusion of her friend was motivated by anything other than concern for his mental state, she denied it, even to herself.

Several times, Illa found herself wandering pensively down the corridor in which the royal suite was located. She still thought that telling Thayet would not be a good idea, and though he had always been kind to her, the prospect of explaining to his majesty that a group who had always strongly supported him now wished to usurp his authority seemed about as welcoming as the prospect of walking into a lions' den armed with a bar of soap, but nevertheless, the secret was a heavy weight to carry, and as she wouldn't talk to Aubrey, Illa was bearing the burden alone. This she did, in the spirit of self sacrifice to be expected of a lady of her standing, but she knew that deep down, the real reason she didn't tell anyone was not because she had no one to trust, or didn't want to worry people; it was because she was terrified of not being believed or taken seriously.

This was not a completely unreasonable fear. She had no evidence to back up her suspicions other than a second-hand morsel of Rider gossip, which, if previous occurrences were anything to go by, stretched the truth at the best of times. That Illa, in her heart of hearts, was certain that there really was a threat, and that she had, in fact, voiced a similar analysis of events to Duke Gareth some weeks before said rumour was actually brought to light would count for very little with anyone save that esteemed personage himself, which made his current absence all the more unfortunate. As Illa herself had once said, people of consequence often tended to believe what they wanted to believe, so before she could tell anyone else, she had to build her case enough for it to warrant investigation. She wasn't quite sure how; all she knew was that sometimes, when rational channels were hard to find, and those in high places lost their illusion of omnipotent power, if a girl was going to act, she had to act alone.

X x X x X

As the first rays of a frosty sunrise began to envelop the palace in their glow, Izmae of Shadowflax was startled to hear a knock on her door. She was even more surprised when, upon opening said door,she was confronted by the sight of her older sister. But this was not the Illa Iz knew. This girl was clad in a plain cotton shirt, canvas breeches and worn leather riding boots, with her hair hanging down in a thick braid. A sword and dagger hung ominously at her belt. Her broad shoulders were thrust proudly back, while her chin was raised as if in defiance and her eyes held a steely gleam. In truth, she looked far more like a battle-ready lady knight than a scholar, and Iz, momentarily taken aback by the impressive results of the play-acting, half expected to be summoned off to some great war or other.

It seemed to take her a moment to recall that the sword was all for show. Illa could not have wielded it with any more prowess than she could have successfully brandished a wizard's rod, and that was saying something, as the Shadowflaxes had been ungifted for seven generations. And the vision of glorious power, on second inspection, actually seemed extremely ill-at-ease, and especially sensitive about her legs, which the breeches outlined unforgivingly. She shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, thus dislodging the sword, which clattered to the floor. She picked it up, then blushed as she saw the amused look on Iz's face.

'Yes, that's right, laugh,' she said grumpily, as she attempted to thread the weapon back into its holster, 'listen, I know it's early, but I just came by to see if I could borrow your spare Rider tunic?' This was a somewhat unprecedented request, and Iz couldn't help answering with a question of her own.

'Where did you get all the rest of that gear?' she asked incredulously, 'I didn't even think you _owned_ a shirt and breeches!' Illa chuckled.

'As a matter of fact, they're the only parts of this get-up that I _do_ own; I used to use them when I was practising archery, and the reason you've never seen them before is because I didn't practise anywhere near enough! As for the boots and the belt and the weapons,' she grinned conspiratorially, 'I've found that when you've picked a lock one time, it's quite easy to do it again. And besides, I got a letter from Liesel last week saying that the delegation's been held back in Maren and won't be home until the spring. I doubt Charlie will miss them!' Iz seemed rather impressed by this treachery.

'Great Mithros, Illa! I didn't think you had it in you.'

'Mmm, I know. I never cease to amaze myself, either.'

'So what was it you wanted my tunic for?' Illa chivvied her sister towards the open door.

'Let's get out of this freezing hallway, and I'll tell you. I swear, once you hear what I've got planned for your tunic, you'll never be surprised by _anything_ I do, ever again!'

X x X x X

An hour later, and all the host of Riders currently cloistered in the palace – a great number, as it was scarcely more than a week until the commencement of midwinter festivities – had assembled for breakfast. As Iz slipped into her usual place, the girl beside her and the tall youth sitting opposite noticed that another young woman stood behind their friend.

'Oh, introductions,' exclaimed Iz, quickly jumping to her feet again, 'this is Melis Pratch, and Yaram Joiner,' she pointed to the girl and the youth in turn, 'and this,' she grabbed the tall young woman's arm and dragged her forwards, 'is Ithaca Delving. She's just been recruited to the Fourth, but since they're away on border patrol at the moment, and she only arrived from Port Caynn last night, I was asked to show her the ropes.'

'That were right nice of ye, Marchwick,' chuckled the boy, Yaram. He turned to Ithaca. 'Just be sure she don't corrupt ye, lass. There's nowt more prank-full as sits in this hall!' Ithaca would have laughed at the truth of this statement, if she hadn't been so confused.

'Marchwick?' she asked perplexedly. Iz laughed, but her companion noticed that the sound was rather strained.

'Oh, beg pardon, Ithaca. I got so carried away in introducing you to my friends that I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Iz Marchwick, and I'm from Pennymill, in Fief Shadowflax, down on the northern edge of the Bahzir desert. My folks are candle-makers.' Ithaca could think of nothing to say to this extraordinary and quite plainly false pronouncement, so quite sensibly, she kept her mouth shut. Obviously, she wasn't the only one here with a hidden agenda. Yaram, sensing that the conversation had hit a standstill, broke the silence easily.

'So, Delving, if you don't mind my sayin' so, you look a deal older than most fresh recruits. What's yer story?' Ithaca smiled.

'I'm newly eighteen,' she said, lending to her words the lilting accent of the coast dwellers. 'I've been apprenticed to a weaver these four years, but lately, I've come to thinking that I'd rather be cutting off heads than threads, if you catch my drift.' Her new acquaintances laughed, but Melis, the girl, wore a rueful expression.

'Sorry love,' she said, 'but in these peacetimes, the most you can expect to chop the head off is somethin' that's already lyin' dead on your plate. We live in hope, though, and I do declare that you match even our Miss Iz for bloodthirstiness. Next time we've a war on our hands, we know who to send for. You'd prob'ly eat the enemy for breakfast!' Ithaca laughed grimly,

_If you'd seen me with a sword, _you'd _be eating your own words!_

The chatter moved quickly, jumping among many fascinating topics. The most part of Rider gossip is actually exchanged at the breakfast table, for unlike the knights and the Own, who stare glassy eyed into their porridge, bemoaning the earliness of the hour, the Riders are taught to greet the day cheerfully and with enthusiasm, and by seven o'clock in the morning, their many brains are already bubbling sneakily with rumours.

'But while Corus gives us plenty to chat about, most days,' Yaram explained, 'we do like to hear a little 'out of town' news now an' again. What's been goin' on in your neck of the woods, Mistress Delving?'

After enlightening the present company with an extremely well-informed overview of current affairs in Port Caynn, Ithaca lowered her voice and adopted a more secretive tone.

'I hear a lot of things when no one thinks I'm listening,' she almost whispered, 'and my mistress was a member of the weavers' guild. I heard say that the guild masters in Corus wanted a republic. I've but a little learning, but I have heard _that_ word before. D'you know if it's true, or has the grapevine twisted this particular message?' Yaram glanced around cautiously before giving a curt nod.

'It's true, Delving, but don't go sayin' that to just anyone. If it reaches noble ears, it'll be all our heads on the line.'

'What, they expect to overthrow the king without him noticing?' asked Ithaca dryly. Yaram looked thoughtful.

'Well, I don't rightly know. It's old Ormiel Glasscutter, master of the jewellers' guild, who's at the bottom of it, so they say. A canny fellow, by all accounts, with a silver tongue to match his craft. He seems to think there's a way, and he's convinced enough people that it's starting to look possible. Though I admit that once the king's head is clean off his shoulders and his palace has been burnt to the ground, the nobles might be startin' to get a little suspicious!' Ithaca laughed. What else could she do? But sensing that it would be unwise to continue pressing the subject, she skilfully turned the conversation to the upcoming midwinter party season, a topic which the riders pursued with vigour, all more serious matters forgotten. A short while later, as Yaram and Melis departed for the stables, Iz and 'Ithaca' also took their leave.

Once safely back inside the young Rider's rooms, Illa all but blew her top.

'What in the mortal realms is going on!?' she shouted. 'You smuggle me in there under a false identity, only for me to find out that I'm not the only imposter! I'm disgusted you didn't tell me: a) because I'm your sister, and b), and more importantly, it was incredibly stupid, not to mention dangerous, to keep me in the dark. Think how easily I could have blown your cover! If Joiner hadn't revealed your alter-ego right at the beginning...' Iz took a deep breath.

'Well, as to a), the sacred bonds of sisterhood have proved no motivation for you to spill all your secret business to me, but you're right,' she paused and hung her head, 'b) is very true, and the Baron also would be disgusted.'

'Oh, goddess! You work for Baron Cooper? Then you're a _real_ spy!'

'Well,' said Iz modestly, 'not exactly. I'm what he calls a 'home informant'. We're not placed in blatantly dangerous situations, like inside enemy territory, but rather throughout the Tortallan community, at all levels, to bring forth what information we can. It's not really secret-agent stuff; most of us don't even have an alias. The Baron came to speak to me last summer, just before I left Shadowflax to come here. He said he wanted someone inside the Riders, and it would be easier for him if they were a noble. But _I_ did get a secret identity, because he also said that I'd hear more – they'd trust me more – if I was a commoner, so I became Iz Marchwick, from Pennymill. I haven't had much training; mostly I was just told to listen. And in the Riders, you don't have to go looking for rumours; they're usually right in front of you!' Illa shook her head in disbelief.

'Lucky we're on good terms with the Pennymill Marchwicks,' she said with a slight smile, 'otherwise you might end up finding yourself in a spot of bother at some stage.' Suddenly, another thought struck her.

'Iz, if what you say about these home informants is true, then wouldn't the Baron have spies closer to the guild masters than you?' Iz looked grave.

'That's just the thing. He had nigh on a hundred, all over the lower city - even inside the guild masters' workshops. Then about six months ago, they all started disappearing. Nearly half have been confirmed dead, but the rest of them just stopped reporting, and he couldn't track them down. He didn't want to replace them and endanger more lives, so he decided to send someone to the Riders instead. It's safer, more detached, but the Riders are notorious for their gossip, so anything of importance is more than likely to filter through in the end.' This was a lot of information for even Illa to take in at once, she was beginning to feel rather dazed.

'Has he told the King, or Duke Gareth, or anyone yet?'

'No. You were the first one he asked me to tell.'

'Me? He _asked_ you to tell me?'

'Yes. He's heard about you from the Duke, and the Lioness, and the Queen, and he thought this would be right up your alley, whatever it is. I've still got no idea what's going on. The Baron wouldn't tell me either!' Illa thought carefully for a moment, then decided that Iz, who was being shamelessly played for information by two completely separate entities, probably deserved to know exactly what she'd got herself into. Hastily, and to Iz's great astonishment and dismay, Illa sketched out the details of the alleged plot.

'But what I don't get' she continued, 'is why the Baron wanted me involved. I may be influential, but I'm not a spy, and I hold no position of authority either. I don't see what I can possibly do that he and his agents can't.' Iz smiled smugly.

'That's exactly it, though. You're not a spy. He didn't want a spy running the show here, after what happened to the rest of them. Someone independent, who could not be linked to him, was a much better candidate. By rights, you're not supposed to know that he has anything to do with it, but I didn't see how I could worm my way out of telling you, after my little slip-up. Oh, and before you ask; no. He won't help you. It would effectively place you in his service, and could have nasty consequences if any of the plotters found out. He says you have to do this alone, or at least, as alone as you can.' This was not altogether encouraging, and Illa was more than a little annoyed to learn that her seemingly accidental involvement in this affair was not as accidental as she had first thought, but she finally began to see the sense behind Iz's argument.

'I think I understand what you and the Baron mean,' she said softly, 'You're saying that the best way to approach this issue is not by sneaking around in the shadows, but by being open, and honest, and _real_. In a way, it's still spying, but it's a different sort; a sort that's even harder to detect,' her eyes began to gleam enthusiastically, 'what's more, we have a confirmation of the rumour, albeit from the same source, and we also have a name. Ah, the possibilities...' Plans were already fermenting in her busy brain, and that very afternoon, stage one of operation 'gods save the king', as it had been affectionately dubbed, was put into action.

**A/N** - Well, I have to say that the whole thing with Iz being a spy was not originally planned. I'd written the whole chapter up until when they get to breakfast before that particular idea entered my head. I hope I did the right thing there, and I think I did, as it was so easy to write from that point onwards! And guess what. In an unusual circumstance for my good self, I actually know the most part of whta's going to happen in the next chapter (even if it's only because it was originally going to be a part of this chapter, but I made it too long). I must say, it makes a nice change to have some sort of direction! I would also like to share with you the significance of Illa's pseudonym, for those who didn't realise it (most of you could probably make some links, if you thought about it enough). 'Ithaca' was the island that Odysseus was king of (Odysseus being the star of Homer's 'Odyssey', and a hero of the Trojan war - if you were barracking for the Greeks, that is), and I figured that Odysseus, who was noted for his guile, resourcefulness, cunning, is actually quite a similar character to Illa, and was known to be a bit tricky, too (think 'trojan horse'... that was his idea!) 'Delving', according to my friend the online dictionary, means 'carrying out intensive and thorough research for data, information, or the like'... isn't that what Illa's doing? Sorry, just had to share that, as I thought I was clever, and in typical fashion, wanted everyone else to know about it! Next update will probably not be for about a week and a half, unless I can get another chapter up before I go to Denmark on Sunday. Sorry folks! Review... though I really shouldn't have to tell you that any more. But to those of you who haven't been paying attention, I am most disappointed that this story has several thousand hits and only 177 reviews... help me get that total up!

l.m xoxo


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N - **Hello again loyal readers, who have (hopefully) not been dissuaded by the immense ammount of time between the last update and this one. I am back, and I think the chapters might flow a bit more freely from now on. If you can't remember what's happened so far, I suggest you go back and read it again, because everything sounds so much funnier the second time (in my humble opinion!)

**Making Her Own Way – Chapter 23**

When Illa came across Aubrey shortly after the third bell next morning, he didn't recognise her. She had been looking for him for quite some time without success, and as a last stroke of inspiration, had resolved to try the Yamani water garden, where he tended to indulge in his favourite pursuit of turtle watching. At this time of year, the ponds were frost-rimmed, the turtles having flown south for the winter, but she was not at all surprised to see Aubrey standing on a delicate wooden bridge that looked barely capable of supporting his weight, and staring wistfully into space. When he heard the crunch of her footsteps on the pebbled paths, however, he turned vaguely to face her.

'Excuse me!' He called, 'I'm Aubrey of Naxen. I've got some washing up in my rooms, if you would be so kind as to deliver it to the laundry.' The 'maid' snorted.

'Do your own laundry, Master Snob. And you can do mine too, while you're at it!' He didn't skip a beat.

'Why are you dressed like that?' And neither did she dignify his enquiry with a response.

'What would you say? Tradesman's daughter, maybe?'

'Hmmm...' He grinned, entering – albeit confusedly - into the spirit of things, 'Yes, nice girl from a good merchant family. She's working as a lady's maid, but I think her father's a storekeeper.' He was about right, too. Illa, despite her perpetual dislike of anything from robin's-egg to aquamarine, was arrayed in a grey-blue woollen gown, a couple of years behind the latest court fashion, while a white cap, starched to within an inch of its life, covered her hair. She bequeathed Aubrey with a grateful smile, but there was something in that smile which made it clear that he was not to mention her antics of the last couple of weeks.

'Want to come on a little excursion with me?' she asked. He looked immediately suspicious. 'Oh no,' she went on, recognising his expression, 'It's nothing too dreadful, but you will have to change out of that dandified brocade waistcoat, however becoming it is.'

'For you,' he declared dramatically, 'I would array myself in sackcloth and ashes.'



'That's just as well,' replied Illa with a menacing glare that hid her blush and made Aubrey shake in his boots. She stepped onto the bridge and tugged at his hand. 'Come on, I want to get down into the city before it starts getting too busy.'

X x X x X

A short time later, a lady's maid and a footman left the palace arm in arm. The maid, clutching tightly at the footman's elbow, wore a frilly, vacant smile, while the footman sported a self-satisfied smirk and a powdered wig.

'I still can't believe I let you talk me into doing this,' crooned the footman into the maid's ear, as they pushed their way through the scrum at the intersection of two busy streets.

'Youdidn't _let _medo anything,' she trilled back at him, inclining her head against his shoulder, 'It was the sheer force of my own personality.'

'Mmmm,' he replied absently, as he caught up a chestnut tress that had escaped from under her cap and twirled it around his finger. 'You know,' he added quite seriously, 'you shouldn't wear that thing. I like to see your hair.' With a scowl, the maid yanked the offending curl from the footman's grasp, and, flashing a reproachful glare - either at her hair or at him, it was difficult to tell - she shoved the loose strands roughly back under the cap. She smoothed down the folds of her gown rather fiercely, and with what seemed to be a Herculean effort, resumed her silly, doe-eyed expression. To a casual observer, she may have appeared just another gentle, enamoured young maiden, but the look on the footman's face spoke volumes. Her grip on his arm, it would seem, was about as gentle as a python.

As they entered Corus' bustling trade district, the maid began glancing around her with such blinking rapidity that the footman's tight hold on her wrist was solely responsible for directing her around the lampposts, stationary carts, and large, balding Mithran priests that populated the laneways.

On a chilly street corner, completely unremarkable apart from the presence of an exceptionally fat and glossy pigeon, the maid whirled around to face the footman and demanded 'Where are we, Aubrey?' He cocked an eyebrow at her.

'I was just following you. I thought you knew exactly where we were going, so I decided just to amuse myself making sure you didn't end up head first in a barrowful of pumpkins.' Illa said nothing, so he went on. 'So you dragged me down here on this elaborately planned 

espionage mission complete with horrible itchy costume and stupid, simpering alter-ego, and now you tell me you don't even know where you're going?' And, sternly frowning, he proceeded to stare his companion down. The moment she looked away, however, he nudged her jovially in the ribs, and as she looked up waspishly, he let out a delighted crow. 'Gotcha there!' He winced as the toe of her boot made contact with his shin, and immediately attempted to regain a more serious demeanour. 'We're at the corner of Five Feathers Lane and The Fiddler's Elbow,' he said.

'Glasscutter's shop is just near Pennyrime Square,' related Illa. 'Are we anywhere in the vicinity?' Aubrey thought for a moment.

'Not really. But we are in the very near vicinity of Nutmeg's Bakehouse. How about we stop in there for a pastry and a warm drink.' As he spoke, the distant palace bells struck, and Illa's forehead creased worriedly.

'We really need to get going, though, if we want to beat the rush. You know it'll be much easier to look for clues in an empty shop than in one that is stuffed full of plump middle-aged matrons!' Aubrey, however, did not seem at all convinced by this reasoning. He looped an arm around her waist and began steering her rather forcibly in the direction of Nutmeg's.

'It's a lovely little spot,' he said temptingly, 'and the apple and sultana turnovers are to die for. Besides,' he added, putting his fingertips under Illa's chin and tilting her face skyward, 'It looks like it's about to snow.'

X x X x X

The interior of Nutmeg's Bakehouse was every bit as cheery and comfortable as Aubrey had promised. The little dining room was brightly lit by torches, decked out with highly polished wooden furniture, and pervaded by the incomparable aroma of freshly baked goods, when Illa and Aubrey seated themselves at a cosy corner table with a plate of turnovers and two pewter mugs filled with frothy eggnog. There was something rather delightful, Illa reflected, in being warm and dry when snow was fluttering against the windows and creating tiny drifts on their sills, but a pang of guilt struck her as she thought of all the people in this city who _didn't_ have a warm place to sit out the storm. The warm turnover thrust into her hand, however, put an end to any compassionate musings.



'So,' said Aubrey, who was not looking at Illa, but rather at the young man in the opposite corner, who seemed intent upon chiselling something into the tabletop with his pen nib. 'Would you care to elaborate on this masterful plan of yours? What are we actually after?' Illa swallowed her mouthful and pulled a face, which hopefully had more to do with the complexity of Aubrey's question than the quality of the food.

'I'm not altogether sure,' she began tentatively, as if trying to gauge his reaction to her somewhat vague strategy. 'I'd just really like to have a look around. There might be something in there that gives Glasscutter away, and if he doesn't think we're nobles he won't go to any great lengths to hide it from us.' Aubrey raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'Something like what?'

'I don't know,' she replied in a rather barbed tone. 'Perhaps a fully armed infantry battalion waving banners which read "Death to the King", and a herald declaiming a list of their grievances against the crown to all and sundry! Goddess, Aubrey, I have no idea!'

'But you believe we really will come across something?' Ignoring Illa's sarcasm had become something of a reflex action to him now.'

'That's why we're going in there,' she explained, slightly more kindly. 'Before we can justify alerting the rest of the realm to our suspicions, we need solid evidence, even if it is only the merest shred.'

'We don't even know what we're looking for, though.'

'Aubrey,' said Illa patiently, 'If it was obvious someone would have already found it, uncovered the plot, and had the guildmasters hanging on Traitors' Hill. If there's anything there at all, it's not going to be reaching out and slapping us in the face with a wet fish,' Aubrey politely applauded this unusual metaphor, and Illa inclined her head graciously before continuing. 'They've been careful all along. They've been sneaking about in the shadows, and it's payed off. They won't want to blow their cover now, so they've got to be subtle. We'll just have to be subtle too.' Aubrey's imminent protestation of impossibility was nipped in the bud as Illa declared decidedly, 'Look. I know it sounds completely hopeless, but you forget, we've got a huge head start.' She paused, and Aubrey chimed in, finally getting into the swing of the discussion.



'You mean that whatever it is, we're actually _looking_ for it,' he said thoughtfully. 'We don't know what we're looking _for_, but at least we're looking for something, which is more than you can say for the sorts that tend to hang around there, either hell-bent on courtship or swept away by the pretty baubles in the windows.'

'That'll have to be us, you realise,' said Illa with a slight smile. Aubrey fingered his powdered wig ruefully, but went on, in a slightly more sombre tone of voice.

'What if we don't find anything, though? Are you going to have a complete about-face and say "Hang subtlety, let's create the biggest, smelliest, messiest diversion we can, so that we can sneak into the back room and search for secret documents that may or may not exist?" I don't know about you, but to me, that sounds like a fast track to the dungeons!' Illa, laughing a little, reached across the table and patted his hand.

'Oh Aubrey,' she said. 'Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.'

X x X x X

_Glasscutter's_ was the sort of shop which simply screamed '_affluence'_ with every fibre of its being. Even the very first glimpse, that of highly polished wooden street-front and immaculate golden signage, exuded wealth and luxury, and that was before you even saw the jewellery. Ormiel Glasscutter's position in the guild was well deserved. He truly was a master of his craft, and Illa, who, as they approached the large display windows, was obliged to be 'swept away by the pretty baubles,' found that her admiration for the trinkets on offer soon became real.

'It's almost a shame we're not really here to buy anything,' she whispered to Aubrey under cover of the bell that tinkled as they pushed open the door. He glanced at her briefly, a curious smile playing on his features, but had no time to speak, as they were immediately approached by the guildmaster himself, a small, wiry man with large, luminous, pale blue eyes, who, despite his advanced age, seemed possessed of an extraordinary vitality.

'And what can I do for you this morning, young sir?' Illa noticed a certain wariness in his tone, which was almost certainly associated with the easily recognised uniform that Aubrey wore. They had expected this.

'Betrothal rings,' said Aubrey, smiling down into Illa's eyes. He sighed, turning a troubled face back to the guildmaster, 'Not your finest, my good sir, exceedingly fine as they may be. 

Our purse is not large. The Establishment,' he added, in a dramatically lowered voice, 'Has never been known for its generosity.' Illa squeezed Aubrey's hand in silent approval of that particular bit of improvisation.

'Very well,' said the guildmaster looking slightly disappointed that they weren't about to part with a large quantity of gold, 'Over here,' he beckoned them gently onwards, 'are our more – affordable – items.' The bell rang again. 'Please excuse me, good sir and madam. Perhaps you will not object to taking a few moments to browse.' He hurried away to assist a new – and rather richer-looking – customer.

'Found anything yet?' whispered Aubrey, under the guise of bending down to point out an unusually pretty sapphire-studded specimen. Illa didn't even hesitate.

'The backdrops in all the jewellery cases are red velvet,' she murmured. 'Red for revolution.' Her companion smiled indulgently.

'Illa, my favourite tunic is red. Does that mean that I'm secretly plotting to overthrow the royal family and announce myself as supreme ruler of the universe?'

'Probably,' Illa muttered. Aloud, she exclaimed, 'Oh, isn't that pearl one absolutely gorgeous? It would match perfectly with the eardrops you gave me last midwinter!' Aubrey chuckled quietly.

'You're good at this.' She smiled.

'So are you. Do you think we need to move around a bit? I don't believe there's anything significant here.' They crossed the room, and set about perusing a rather impressive display of cufflinks. Though the range was extensive and the craftsmanship impeccable, the cufflinks seemed to hold no clues. Neither did the eardrops, the necklaces, the brooches, the tie-pins, or the elaborately jewelled sword sheaths. In fact, the footman and the lady's maid, who had been conscientiously ignored by the guildmaster ever since he had first left them to 'browse', were just about to admit defeat, and were heading towards the door when Aubrey spied something in a corner of the big window that fronted the snowy street.

'Illa,' he whispered urgently, 'Keep marvelling over that tiara, only not too loudly or he'll come over, but look at this. Someone's scratched something into the glass. I think it's... I think it's a... a puffer-fish on the end of a fishing rod!'



'A _what_?'

'A, um, hedgehog licking a broom handle?'

'Pardon?'

'A horse-chestnut skewered on a hairpin?' Illa shook her head in mock despair, and as she leaned down under the pretence of further examining the tiara, she was able to get a good look at the strange symbol herself. A spiky ball was linked to a short, straight line by another line, this one longer and slightly curved, and the whole effect did indeed resemble nothing so much as a puffer-fish on the end of a fishing rod. Unless... Suddenly, Illa stood up so abruptly that the tiara only just managed to remain upright upon its plinth. She grabbed Aubrey by the elbow, and, as quickly as could possibly be decorous, hustled him out of the shop...

**A/N - **I didn't actually intend to end it there, but my editing subcommittee, Liesel, Izmae and Kate the Kitchen Maid, who were all looking over my shoulder at the time, said 'why don't you just stop it there?' So I did, and you should probably be grateful to them, because otherwise you wouldn't have got a chapter for at least another week, and when you'd got it, it would have been HUGE! So, please, if you're still enjoying it, review! It might just make a difference as to how quickly the next chapter appears!

Lady Muck xo


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N - **My, my... it's been a long time, and I humbly apologise to my long-suffering readership... this one's been almost-complete for months, I've just been too lazy to upload! Let me know if there are any glaring errors; I don't think there should be, though, as this chapter has been reread and edited approximately five hundred and forty seven million times!

**Chapter 24**

Illa, with a thoroughly perplexed Aubrey in tow, ploughed swiftly through the shallow snow that blanketed the cobblestones. Then, quite suddenly, she veered off course and dragged her unsuspecting companion into a narrow, shadowy alleyway that had just appeared between two buildings. Gasping with a vigour that seemed disproportionate to the pace she had been setting, Illa leant up against the damp stone wall and attempted to regain her breath. As soon as she looked capable of coherently answering a question, Aubrey began his inquisition.

'So, what was that all about?' Illa raised her head slowly.

'We found it.' Her lips, Aubrey noticed, trembled with something more than exhaustion, and her face was extremely pale.

'Found what, exactly?'

'Proof,' she said simply.

'Proof that will stand up in front of the chief high magistrate?'

'If not, at least evidence that will merit his thorough investigation.'

'I don't suppose you'd be at all inclined to fill me in.' To Aubrey's surprise, his impertinence was not countered with a typical acidic comeback. Illa moved a few steps closer to him, and, seemingly reluctant to meet his eyes, she addressed her whispered explanation to his Adam's apple instead.

'You know how I told you a while ago that the republic was a purely theoretical concept?'

'I seem to recall some discussion along those lines.'

'Well, I was wrong.' This was unprecedented, but Aubrey didn't feel that the time was quite right for flippant comment, so he allowed her to continue uninterrupted.

'Around two hundred and fifty years ago, there was a merchant republic in Tyra. It didn't last more than eighteen months or so, and the whole affair was shrouded in controversy. I only found out about it last week.' She smiled slightly. 'I made a few discreet enquiries among our esteemed professors, who were only too happy to rectify my ignorance.'

'Isn't it funny that they never told us about it in class?' mused Aubrey

'Not really. That particular detail has been almost completely erased from the history books. The Tyran monarchy is intensely ashamed of what happened, and so their propaganda has edited out the whole episode, and most other authorities followed their lead. Countries feared that by allowing the Tyran uprising to be recounted, they might inspire rebels of their own.' Aubrey whistled.

'So much for freedom of press!'

'Would you prefer freedom of press or your head on your shoulders?'

'Point taken. But what's it got to do with the puffer-fish?' Illa rolled her eyes.

'Your puffer-fish is _Sjdyrga_, the mace. It was the symbol of the revolutionary organisation in Tyra, because in Tyran, it has a double meaning. _Sjdyrga_ also means 'power.' The mace is a weapon that's only wielded by the strongest.'

'And,' added Aubrey fervently, 'if you see one coming at your head, there's not a whole lot you can do about it.'

'Well, that makes me feel _much_ better about having to suppress a revolution, I must say!'

'Sorry. So, what happened to the Tyrans?'

'Everything that I warned you would happen if the Tortallan monarchy was deposed. Different rebels squabbled over the leadership, and no one seemed to have the proper authority to _do_ anything, so the entire country went to pieces. People were starving, agriculture and industry were in chaos, and the merchant banks, which were the main source of national income, failed completely. I shudder to think what might have happened if they'd managed to do away with the entire royal family, but luckily, the crown prince escaped to Carthak, and when the initial turmoil had cooled down a bit, he came back with a division of the Carthaki military and regained his throne.'

'Great Mithros!' exclaimed Aubrey, 'they leave things like that off the syllabus, and they wonder why we all fall asleep during lectures!' Illa gave him an indulgent smile.

'I think they assume when they conduct the lectures that their pupils have a genuine interest in the subject!' Aubrey, however, was now frowning thoughtfully.

'It's a bit like the Raka rebellion in the Copper Isles, isn't it?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, it's just that you hear all these stories about the symbol they used, the open shackle. Supporters would carve it into their shop windows, or graffiti it inconspicuously on crown property, or recreate it in different wares at their market stalls – you know, weave it into the blankets they were selling, or arrange their vegetables in that shape.' Illa's eyes widened.

'It's probably all over the city, and we just haven't been realising!' They stood quite still for a moment, before Aubrey let out a shallow gasp of recollection.

'Can we go back to Nutmeg's for a moment?' He asked.

'Aubrey, I hardly think this is the-'

'No, not to eat, I just want to have a look at something.'

'What?'

'You'll see when we get there.'

'You're being infuriating!' Aubrey grinned.

'I learned from the best.'

X x X x X

Nutmeg's was much emptier now; perhaps the earlier snow had driven shoppers back home. Aubrey guided Illa to the table in the opposite corner from where they had sat earlier, and whispered, 'Sit down so it doesn't look so suspicious.' Illa, who had already closely scrutinised the many-paned windows, sat down obligingly and began studying the wall hangings.

'I don't see where –' she began, but Aubrey cut her off.

'Try a little closer to home.' He picked up her hand, which was impatiently drumming on the table top, and moved it a little to the right. Illa felt rough grooves hewn into the shining mahogany, and quickly moved her hand to uncover, for the second time that day, the _Sjdyrga_. Her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.

'When we were here earlier,' whispered Aubrey, by way of explanation, 'I saw a man sitting here, gouging something into the table with his pen-nib, but I didn't really think anything of it. Then when you were talking before about the symbol probably being all over Corus, I remembered him, and I thought that whatever he was carving might have been the _sht_... the _sjgu_... umm, the emblem of the grand society of the ensnared puffer-fish. Anyway, I was right.' He looked up expectantly at Illa.

'How would you feel about a little reconnaissance mission? Let's say we check out the markets.'

Illa didn't appear to have heard a thing. She was staring so hard at the carved symbol that the most logical explanation was that - in the absence of a sharp object - she was attempting to erase the dreaded mace by sheer willpower.

'Illa?' Aubrey sounded slightly worried. 'Are you up for a bit of investigation?' Illa looked up, through a face that was positively ashen now.

'No... no, not today, I don't think,' she faltered. 'Please, Aubrey, just take me home.' Aubrey, a concerned frown creasing his forehead, stood up and readjusted his headpiece, before offering Illa his hand. The frown deepened as he looped a gentle arm around her shoulders. She was tall and broad-shouldered, solidly built for a noblewoman, but he was shocked at how fragile she seemed. Perhaps it was just the absence of her usual spark and impetuosity, or perhaps it was the fact that – even though they had abandoned their exaggerated play-acting - she nestled quite naturally into his side rather than trying to maintain her stern, upright carriage, as if the illusion of capability and independence she usually strived to convey was no longer important.

Concerned enquiries hovered unspoken on Aubrey's tongue as they made their way through the streets of a Corus that was now almost deserted. For the second time that day, Illa didn't seem to be paying a great deal of attention to her surroundings, but as they reached a crossroad near the palace, Aubrey still asked,

'Which way will we go? Main entrance, or around the back through the gardens?' Illa cast him a slightly startled glance, but then replied quietly,

'The gardens. I think I would like to see trees.' Though Aubrey did not hesitate to comply with this unusual request, he could not help but express his puzzlement at it. Surely the sight of deciduous trees on a grey, wintery day couldn't possibly have any improving effect upon a miserable temperament.

'Illa,' he began carefully, as they turned into the gate of the Royal Gardens and down an avenue of massive, bare, grey oaks, 'The trees don't... have any leaves on them right now.' Illa gave a strained smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and replied softly, 'I know, and I don't care. I just want to see something other than people and buildings. People are treacherous, vain, fickle schemers, and buildings only echo their builders. Trees don't go behind each other's backs for power, or have "depths." You always know exactly where you stand with a tree.'

Aubrey chuckled slightly at that last remark, but Illa shook a little in his hold, and when he stopped and turned to look at her, he saw that tears were spilling down her cheeks. Without a second thought, he turned her further into his embrace and crushed her shuddering form to his chest. Having been confronted once before by a weeping Illa, Aubrey didn't feel as awkward as he might otherwise have, but, he reflected, there was something different about this situation. Her tears at the midsummer ball, justified though they were, were a noble-maiden's tears, motivated by the petty rumours and jealousies of Court. Though Aubrey still wasn't sure exactly why Illa was crying now, he was fairly certain that this was something more. The whole issue was so much bigger than the suddenly very small girl sobbing into his shirtfront. Timidly he raised a hand to her forehead and swept aside the silly starched cap, before pressing a sympathetic cheek to her soft chestnut hair. She pulled back then, not far enough to break the embrace, but enough to look him in the eye, and he half expected a kick on the shins for his forwardness. But it never came. She merely blinked up at him, eyelashes glistening with moisture, soft mouth quivering with emotion that was just barely suppressed.

'Aubrey,' she whispered, 'I'm... I'm frightened.' It cost her a great deal to say that. Not merely in the effort of holding back a fresh burst of tears, but in admitting that she had lost her grip on a situation that now seemed to have spiralled out of control. She went on in a halting murmur.

'Before, when we talked about it, even when Iz spied on the Riders and people spat on nobles in the city, it was all abstract, all speculative – as Raif would now say,' she gave a watery laugh, 'a hypothetical situation.' She took a deep, steadying breath. 'Now it's very, very real. It's big and it's dangerous, and I don't know what to do. I'm scared, and inexperienced, and alone!'

'Never alone,' whispered Aubrey absently, as he gently traced comforting circles on Illa's back, somehow realising that a long and pompous speech of allegiance was not exactly what the occasion called for. After a moment, he realised that something had changed in Illa's face; the tears remained on her cheeks, but the look of lost despondency was gone. He should have known – any sign of weakness from Illa was only a passing phase. She was looking at him with a slight smile and a gentleness of expression such as he had never before seen on her face.

'We might not... have much time,' she said haltingly. He wasn't altogether sure what she was talking about, but it didn't matter. He raised his hand tentatively to her face and softly wiped the trail of tears from her cheekbone, pausing slightly until he realised that her sharp intake of breath was not to be followed by a blow or a swift departure. As his other arm curled around her waist, he slipped his hand behind her ear, twining it into her hair, cradling her head as tenderly as any nursemaid. She did not shrink from his embrace, but gazed up at him, her eyes so implicitly trusting that he felt a little overwhelmed by the degree of faith she seemed to have in him.

'Illa, would it be considered "taking advantage" if I were to kiss you now?'

'It would be an absolute disgrace, and his majesty would probably have you deported' answered Illa, her breathless tone and shining eyes contrasting oddly with the words.

'That's a shame,' said Aubrey, ducking his head bashfully, though his twinkling green-hazel gaze never quite left the eyes of his lady-love.

Illa herself was somewhat bewildered, not because things were confusing, but rather because everything suddenly seemed so perfectly clear. Where was the spinning head; the crushing whirlwind of conflicting emotions that so often afflicted the heroines of stories and songs? Surely it was completely unreasonable that her only coherent feeling was an overwhelming and quite unexpected desire to reach up, take Aubrey's now-scandalously-blushing face between her hands and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. And that was it, she finally realised. The discoveries of the afternoon had hit home hard, and it was the understanding that tomorrows might be in short supply that had quenched any pre-existing intention of keeping such feelings strictly unacknowledged or at least undisclosed. The concept of her own death, even after today's proceedings, was still reassuringly vague, yet its hovering, spectral presence on the horizon was enough to make her whisper again, 'We might not have much time,' loop her arms around the back of Aubrey's neck and let him draw her face up to meet his own.

X x X x X

They made a pretty picture, those two. The sweet-faced maid in the arms of the tall, handsome footman, ankle-deep in drifts with fresh snow swirling in the air around them and the protective arch of the wintery oaks over their heads.

They'd stood there for at least half a bell, embracing, kissing, laughing; kissing again... But the maid's creamy skin now had a distinct bluish tinge to it. It wouldn't be long before her suitor noticed and steered her indoors. Aengus Brimm stood up from his park bench and stretched his limbs, stiff with cold. He brushed the snow off his breeches, shook it out of the folds of his cloak and returned his gaze to the pair standing in the middle of the deserted oak avenue.

They seemed fairly innocent... totally absorbed in each other; they had been all day. But they had seen other things too. They had been to Nutmeg's, the unofficial headquarters of the revolution, and the green-eyed man had watched intently as Aengus chiselled the _Sjdyrga _into his tabletop. They had been to Glasscutter's; the man had revealed his discontent with the establishment, while the girl's curious eyes had darted around the shop, seeming to take in so much more that just the jewellery displays lining the walls. She had been looking for something. The store was large and the distractions were many and brilliant, but they had found it: the tiny, faint, inconspicuous carving tucked away in a dusty corner of the front window. And she had known. She had understood and rushed him away.

Out of fear? Aengus didn't think so, as they'd appeared again in Nutmeg's that afternoon. Sat at his table, found his engraving, and discussed something in low urgent voices. And then he had found them here. Still together, still alone, and obviously happy. Relieved perhaps? Surely this could only mean one thing: that they were sympathisers to the conspiracy, and that they thought they might be nearer to finding a way in.

It wasn't easy. Recruiters like Aengus didn't start from scratch; they only approached the people who had the wits to begin figuring things out for themselves. The society could afford no freeloaders; they didn't want members who couldn't pull their weight. But these two... they were young, bright and – since they'd been accepted into service at the palace – probably educated. The society could use members like these...

Shaking the last of the cold from his hands and feet, Aengus set his shoulders and began striding towards the young couple. Well, he thought, spies inside the palace were a luxury that they had not yet had access to. Perhaps these would be the ones to take his rebellion from abstract speculation to concrete reality.

**A/N - **Um-ahh! they have a stalker!

Unfortunately I cannot promise anything in the way of updates until the end of November... exams are rapidly approaching! LM xo


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N **- Er, yes... so it's me again. Before you all draw your swords, may I say that I honestly didn't realise I hadn't updated since last year. This chapter has been mostly written for months, and last night, after reading over the rest of the story, I got inspired and was up until 3am finishing it off! In chapter 25, we have a bit of revolutionary action followed by a riddle and lots of fluff. I hope nothing is too out of character, as it _has_ been a while since I last chatted with Illa! ;)

x X x X x

Illa didn't hear the soft swishing of boots through powdery snow until their owner was mere inches away from her. Gasping slightly, she spun around in Aubrey's arms to face the newcomer. He looked to be about seven or eight and twenty, and although his nose was too long, his chin too pronounced and his sandy hair too wild for true good looks, he was by no means unpleasant to the eye, and his visage exuded the sort of candid honesty and intelligence that invited confidences. Aubrey, however, did not seem disposed to trust this stranger.

'Who are you?' He demanded rather abruptly, tightening his grip on Illa, as though he half expected the man to make some sort of claim on her. The man laughed good-naturedly, and extended a repentant hand.

'My apologies for the sudden appearance. My name is Aengus Brimm.' Sensing, despite her confusion, that a retention of the maid-and-footman charade would be prudent, Illa took the proffered hand and completed the introductions before Aubrey even had a chance to open his mouth.

'I am Ithaca Delving, if it please, sir,' she said, curtseying respectfully. 'I serve the house of Shadowflax. And this is Fergal Quilter, my...' she paused, smiling slightly, 'my betrothed.' She suppressed a giggle as Aubrey gave an involuntary jerk behind her. 'He's a footman at the palace.'

'I surmised as much,' said Brimm dryly, appraising the livery in which Aubrey was garbed. There was a long and heavy silence before he spoke again. 'I...' he began, suddenly looking sheepish. 'I have been out and about in the city today, and I couldn't help but notice...'

'Couldn't help but notice what?' Illa's curt tone masked her terror. She had given false names merely as a precaution against uncomfortable questions about why two nobles were gadding about in servants' attire, but now it seemed that the split second decision may have been a life-saving one. Brimm cleared his throat.

'The places you went. The things you looked at. The fact that you seemed to know what they meant.' Illa gritted her teeth and rather unnecessarily scanned the frozen park for eavesdroppers before whispering 'the _Sjdyrga_?' Brimm inclined his head in the affirmative, and Illa, feeling that enthusiasm for the cause might serve her better than frosty caution at this point, added, 'we weren't sure at first. Of course, we knew that something was afoot - I mean, you'd have to be a noble or a deaf, blind mute not to notice that things are changing in Corus - but we wanted to find the source.' Here she broke off and looked at Brimm, who was positively incandescent with fervour and excitement, before trying and failing to repress a true smile. 'And judging from the look on your face, Master Brimm,' she drawled, 'I believe I would be safe in saying that we have found it!' Brimm nodded again, and dusted a few stray snowflakes from his shoulder before commencing his explanation.

'Yes, Miss Delving, Master Quilter; you have found it. I am a recruiter for _Ata sim Rasik_ – Winds of Change – the rebel group, which, as you have discovered, is preparing to implement an egalitarian republican government in Tortall.' Illa gave an inward smile at the accuracy of her reasoning, but kept her face impassive. 'My job is a difficult and often unrewarding one,' Brimm went on. 'It would be fatally dangerous if we were to start openly campaigning for our cause and canvassing for supporters, so my task is generally to watch and wait until someone is able to work through the elaborate web of rumours and clues which provide the only access point to membership.'

'Elaborate web of rumours and clues?' interrupted Illa. 'I'm sorry, but I don't quite see what you mean. We simply heard that the guildmasters wanted a republic and that Ormiel Glasscutter was the leader of the conspiracy, so we decided to scout around his shop a little. Then, by some miraculous coincidence, we found the _Sjdyrga_, and Fergal recalled that someone had been chiselling something into a tabletop at Nutmeg's this morning. We went back there and...' she paused, waiting for her thoughts to catch up to her mouth, as Aubrey suddenly asked 'It was you, wasn't it?' Brimm barked a short laugh.

'It was. You are clever,' he continued, raising an ironic eyebrow at Illa, 'but not clever enough to realise that everything you saw today, you saw because you were supposed to see it.' Illa felt a spark of indignation, but before she could utter a sharp retort, Brimm went on. 'Glasscutter is a minor member of _Ata sim Rasik_. He has sacrificed his own safety to act as a smokescreen for the true nature of the society. The rumour about the Guildmasters wanting to overthrow the monarchy is just that; a rumour, and one which we have deliberately cultivated and spread to protect our identity. There is enough truth in it to garner the interest of sympathisers, but not enough to reveal us categorically to the authorities. And the Guildmasters, as a rule, are greedy and power-hungry; few will mourn them if they end up as stormwing bait on Traitors' Hill.'

Illa's head was spinning. She had been called a 'bright political mind', but she wasn't a patch on these people. The whole scenario seemed brilliant; impossibly clever, unapologetically ruthless. _But not that clever,_ noted a small voice in her head._ You're not supposed to be here. You are a monarchist – an infiltrator, not a sympathiser – they should never have let you get this far. _

'That is certainly true,' she said aloud. 'They have raised their prices and wallow luxuriously in the profits. In fact, I would venture to say that, at the present time, they meet with more resentment than the King himself!' Brimm's rough, humourless laugh echoed alarmingly through the frozen air, and he scanned the deserted park again. Satisfied that they were still alone, he reached into the worn leather satchel he carried, pulled out a slightly crumpled scroll sealed with colourless wax, and handed it wordlessly to Illa.

'What is –' she began to ask, but he cut her off abruptly.

'Do not open it here.' He gave a short bow. 'Miss Delving, Master Quilter, good day.' With that, he pulled his heavy cloak tighter around his shoulders and strode off across the snowy ground. They watched him silently until he reached the gate, whereupon his dull clothing camouflaged seamlessly into the weathered stone walls and his figure disappeared from view.

Aubrey placed his hands on Illa's shoulders and turned her slowly around to face him. Her face was unreadable; his was not. Shock, fear and confusion emanated from his every pore.

'What in Mithros' name,' he asked quietly, 'have we just gotten ourselves into?'

x X x X x

Now, reflected Illa a while later, was the ideal opportunity to cry; to act the typical noble maiden and throw a fit of hysterics, to run about carelessly brandishing sensitive information towards anyone with the faintest vestige of authority. Yes, doing all that would be incredibly comforting, there was just the minor drawback that such a course of action might very well result in rather a lot of people getting killed. She turned almost involuntarily from her armchair by the fire to where the as-yet-unopened scroll was sitting. She had promised not to read it until Aubrey returned from dispensing with his footman's uniform, but her fingers were itching in anticipation of an imminent discovery, and it took every ounce of her self-control to prevent her from breaking the seal and hungrily exploring the contents. Illa resettled herself in the armchair, drew the folds of her dressing gown around her and gazed absently into the flames, trying to redirect her thoughts. Of course, they strayed to Aubrey first. How ironic that just when things had begun to get interesting, something far more important had forced romance to the very back of her consciousness. Her mind whirled wildly through the various events of the day. What had caused the change between them? Surely it must have been more than a passing moment of weakness; gratitude for a shoulder to cry on. Surely she would not have enjoyed it so much if it had been. _No_, she suddenly realised, _it's just that it wasn't until I was faced with my own vulnerability that I could admit to myself how much I need him. _She smiled a tiny self-deprecating smile. _How much I love him. Never imagined myself saying that, but it's true._

Illa didn't look up when Aubrey entered the room. Wordlessly, he picked up the scroll from the small table where it sat, and handed it to her as he settled himself on the arm of her chair. She gave him a tremulous smile and slid a quivering finger under the wax seal. 'Well, here goes,' she said. Though neither of them could have explained exactly what they expected the scroll to enclose, both felt a curious sense of disappointment at what was revealed as Illa smoothed out the parchment on her lap. It contained only a few words, arranged in a seemingly meaningless couplet.

'_Fragrant, in the mace I lie At the Goddess' next dusk.'_

'A cryptic message?' snorted Illa disbelievingly, 'Mithros, I know it's serious stuff, but I think they're enjoying this far too much. He knew there was no one eavesdropping in the park. Would it have killed him to tell us then, in plain Common?' Aubrey, meanwhile, had his eyebrows knit as he studied the words intently.

'The mace. Well, that's obviously the _Sjdyrga_, or more likely _Ata sim Rasik_ itself. But "fragrant in the mace I lie?" That doesn't sound like it has anything to do with strength in battle!'

'You know,' said Illa slowly, 'the mace isn't only a weapon.' Suddenly her face split into a triumphant grin. 'It's a spice – the ground-up seedpod of a particular type of tropical tree,' now her voice took on the school-teacher quality which Aubrey found simultaneously exasperating and endearing, 'and the seed is also used as a spice. Do you know what it's called, Naxen?'

'No sir, I fear my knowledge of botanical science is sadly lacking.' Illa elbowed him sharply in the side.

'Nutmeg,' she whispered gleefully. 'Nutmeg's Bakehouse. _Fragrant in the mace I lie_. Nutmeg is the mace's sweet-smelling kernel.' She drew a deep breath and blew it out as a whistle. 'My, my. What a singularly appropriate place to meet. But I wonder when...'

'Next Monday evening,' responded Aubrey promptly.

'I'm sorry?'

'Next Monday evening. That was the easy part.' If Illa was at all surprised by this somewhat uncharacteristic display of problem-solving logic, she hid it well.

'How so?'

'_The Goddess' next dusk._ Monday is named for the moon. The moon is the symbol of the Goddess. So Monday is the Goddess' day, and the Goddess' dusk is Monday at sundown.'

'Right,' said Illa matter-of-factly, after a few moments silent thought. 'Nutmeg's bakehouse, next Monday evening.' Aubrey gave a wry grin.

'When you say it like that...'

'It kind of makes it sound like it's not the beginning of the most terrifyingly stupid thing we've ever done, doesn't it?'

'Exactly.' And they laughed. What else could they really do?

'We need to work on our alter-egos,' said Illa a while later. 'These people are absolutely merciless, if we get caught out, we'll get ourselves killed.'

'So, asked Aubrey, gently tugging a strand of Illa's hair free from its pins and twirling it around his finger, 'who is Ithaca Delving?' Illa tried to wrestle her thoughts away from the teasing brush of Aubrey's fingers against her neck.

'Ithaca was apprenticed to a weaver in Port Caynn,' she stammered, cheeks flushing. 'She came to Corus to join the Queen's Riders, but decided it wasn't for her. Illinen of Shadowflax was advertising for a lady's maid, and Ithaca jumped at the chance. Fortunately,' Illa continued, 'the remarkably charitable and benevolent Lady Shadowflax has been magnanimous enough to give her three days off a week, in which to pursue recreational interests such as revolution.' Aubrey chuckled.

'How impossibly convenient. And what of her _betrothed_-' Illa blushed wildly '-the rakish and charming footman-of-the-month?'

'Ah, dear old Fergal.' Illa's mouth twisted into a rather evil grin as Aubrey flinched.

'Why, out of all the gods-cursed names on earth, did you have to call me Fergal?'

'It's the first thing that popped into my head,' Illa retaliated. 'What was I supposed to say? I'm Ithaca Delving and this is my betrothed, um... er... I'm sorry, please talk amongst yourselves for a moment while I decide upon a name that will be both appropriate to his station and fashionable enough to appease his ego?!'

x X x X x

At the third bell after dusk, just as Aubrey was beginning to think that it might be a good idea to return to his own rooms, there came a knock at Illa's door. She disentangled herself from him and went to answer it, and a moment later he was somewhat surprised to hear her calling his name. He found her leaning against the frame of the open door and gazing after a retreating messenger, a sealed note in her hand. She grinned at him playfully.

'You must be becoming rather predictable, if they've started bringing your mail straight to my quarters.' She held the note up to the light cast by a nearby lamp and examined it carefully. 'Isn't that the Naxen crest?' Aubrey took the note from her hand and peeled it open. Upon reading the contents, his face split into a relieved smile.

'Yes. It's from my father. He writes that he has received our correspondence and will be returning on Sunday evening.'

'Before Monday,' breathed Illa, 'thank the Goddess.'

'And there's a post-script,' added Aubrey with a smile. 'He implores me by all the gods to do whatever I can to ensure that you are in a fit state for sensible conversation when he arrives.'

'Your father,' said Illa fervently, 'knows me far better than is entirely comfortable.' Aubrey laughed and pulled her close.

'So,' he murmured, lips drifting distractingly from her temple to the tip of her nose, then along her jaw-line, 'what do I need to do, Illa? What do you_ want_ me to do?' His lips met hers, softly, tantalisingly, before she broke away and laid her head against his chest, vainly trying to stifle a giggle brought on by the thought of Duke Gareth's reaction to this particular interpretation of his advice.

'Aubrey,' she said, voice quavering with repressed laughter, 'somehow I doubt that that was the sort of thing your father had in mind.'

'And somehow I doubt,' responded Aubrey with a rather endearing smirk, 'that my father was the one I was trying to please just then.' He took Illa by the shoulders and held her at arm's length, eyeing her critically. 'My father will look after himself,' he said seriously, 'you're the one I'm worried about right now. What do you need, Illa? I'll do whatever I can.' Illa reached up tentatively and gently traced the outline of his face. Now, whether she liked it or not, was not the time for rational thought, now was the time for impulse; for meeting the needs of the heart rather than the head, because ultimately, the heart was easier to satisfy. She met his eyes steadily, the tender trust in her gaze reflected in his own.

'Stay,' she whispered. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and his greenish eyes darkened.

'Do you mean-'

'No!' she cut him off quickly, hanging her head to hide the roses blooming in her cheeks. 'I mean, not now,' she stammered. 'It's not... I'm not... There's too much going on. I... I can't afford too many... distractions.'

'So why ask me to stay?' he asked, raising an eyebrow in a gesture that made his resemblance to Nealan of Queenscove more pronounced than ever. But instead of greeting his comment with the caustic reply it so richly deserved, Illa stepped further into his hold, wound both arms around his neck, and ran her fingers lightly through his hair.

'Because,' she replied softly, 'to a certain extent, and within reasonable limits of propriety, I need to be distracted tonight.' Aubrey beheld her in silence for a moment, his eyes shining with mischievous warmth and barely-tempered adoration, before suddenly grasping her around the waist, flipping her up into his arms, and bearing her, bridal style, back over the threshold as she shrieked with laughter. Despite her incoherent protests, he pulled back the eiderdown and dumped her unceremoniously into bed. She looked up at him, eyes bright, magnificent, unbound hair fanned across her pillow, and suddenly all the mirth was gone from her face, replaced by what could only be described as a kind of impossibly innocent desire. Aubrey scrunched his eyes tightly shut for a moment, before giving Illa a small, tight smile and sitting down on the opposite edge of the bed to take his boots off. Yet the tenseness of his back seemed to Illa slightly reproachful, and she felt her resolve weakening.

'I'm sorry-'

'Don't be,' he cut her off firmly. 'We have all the time in the world for whatever we wish, whenever we wish it.' He blew out the lamp, slid wearily under the covers and turned towards her, enveloping her in his embrace. 'Don't you ever be sorry, Illa,' he murmured in her ear, 'I'm perfectly happy just to hold you for as long as you want me to.' Illa smiled against his chest. How was it that Aubrey always knew exactly what to say to make things right? Because they _were_ right, now. From the circle of his arms, all the worries of the past few weeks seemed suddenly trivial; if not utterly inconsequential, then at least able to be easily dealt with. She shut her eyes with a long contented sigh.

'Are you asleep yet?' he asked a while later.

'Should I be?' she answered with a grin, shifting slightly away from him without relinquishing her grip on his hand.

'Depends on whether you want to miss this or not. I have something to tell you.'

'Please, Goddess, don't let it be that he already has seven wives and thirty-five children!' Aubrey snorted.

'Considering the fact that I'm not yet twenty, that would be a fairly significant achievement. No, Illa,' his voice softened, 'I just wanted to tell you that when all this is over...' he hesitated, and the unspoken 'if' swelled like a balloon between them. She squeezed his hand tighter in the dark. 'When all this is over,' he continued more confidently, 'and if you agree to it, I'm going to ask your father for permission to court you properly.' Illa gave a throaty chuckle, and rolled over to nestle into his side.

'You really needn't bother. I'm my own mistress, you know,' she paused thoughtfully, 'but I must say, Da would probably be rather chuffed. After all,' he could feel the gentle mockery in her voice, 'for reasons best known to themselves, the Naxens _always_ marry into northern fiefs. I expect he'd consider it a great honour!'

'Impertinent minx,' scoffed Aubrey, elbowing her in the ribs. 'I'll have you know that my paternal grandmother was from Fief Meron, which is practically in the Bahzir desert. Just goes to show that for all their skills at gossip-mongering, those old dames remain woefully ignorant on the subject of Tortallan geography!'

**A/N **- I would love to able to update quickly this time, but somehow I doubt it's going to happen. Life is a little hectic at the moment... I'm studying for my final exams as well as rehearsing to play the lead role in a local production of 'The Sound of Music' in a couple of weeks' time. But just visible on the horizon are the long and lazy summer holidays, in which, I foresee, there will be ample time for writing!

And I know I don't particularly deserve reviews, but that won't stop me from asking for them!

Lady Muck xo


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N - **Well here I am back again... in a matter of days... this is unprecedented! However, I must confess that I am stalling; another filler chapter here, as I know the secret meeting will be tough to write and so am putting it off! Duke Gareth is back though, so let us be thankful for small mercies... and Illa is his 'minion'... gosh I love that word ;)

Illa was standing alone on the balcony of her quarters, watching the gauzy puffs of her breath fade into the cold, clear winter sunset, when warm arms settled around her waist.

'My father has just returned,' Aubrey murmured, his balmy breath tickling her ear. 'He would like to see you right away.' Illa spun round with carefully feigned composure, affecting a look of some surprise.

'Well, certainly, if he insists.' She calmly smoothed the folds of her green woollen gown and ran a hand over her hair. Aubrey gave her an indulgent smile, feeling that it was probably unwise to point out that Illa had been on edge for three days in anticipation of Duke Gareth's return, and that if the Duke had not requested an audience with her this very evening, she could quite conceivably have taken to his door with a battering ram. He tucked her arm through his and led her back through her rooms. They were halfway along Illa's corridor when she suddenly turned to Aubrey, her face lit by blind panic.

'Great Mithros, Aubrey!' she gasped. 'What in the divine realms am I going to tell him?' Aubrey's brow furrowed for a moment, before he asked bemusedly,

'Why not tell him everything?'

'Gods all bless! Aubrey of Naxen campaigning for a full and frank confession to an authority figure? What is the world coming to?'

'Well, why not?'

_Why not, indeed,_ mused Illa. If it hadn't been for the fact that bringing Tortall to the brink of civil war seemed a very real possibility, she would never for a moment have questioned the value of telling the whole truth. However, the prospect of enlightening the Prime Minister brought with it the risk that he, obliged to eliminate all potential threats to the Crown, would see fit to send half the King's Own hurtling down to Nutmeg's Bakehouse tomorrow at sundown, an eventuality which was unlikely to result in a peaceful or complete solution.

'Aubrey,' she began pensively, 'as comforting as it would be to tell him everything, I just don't think it would be safe to. Not unless there was some foolproof way to swear him to secrecy. Because if he thinks that Tortall's stability is in danger, he's under oath to report it. And if he does, everything's going to go right out into the open, and turn into a bloody mess before anyone can do anything about it.' Aubrey rotated his head slowly, eliciting from his neck a series of staccato clicks which pinged off the bare stone surfaces of the hallway.

'Illa,' he said, 'perhaps you're underestimating his sense of prudence.' Illa looked up, startled.

'He trusts you,' Aubrey continued, 'He sets great store by your judgement. For what it's worth, so does Baron Cooper. If you ask him to keep things quiet, what makes you so sure that he won't listen?' Illa was shocked.

'But I'm not... I really don't... What right have I to just go in there and tell the Prime Minister what to do?' Aubrey reached up and tweaked her ear in amused frustration.

'You've more right than most. Have you forgotten that he actually hired you as an advisor? If ever there was a time when my father needed advice, it's now.' There was too much truth in this statement for Illa to continue the argument so she glanced instead at her surroundings, and was somewhat surprised to see that the tapestries and portraits lining this particular corridor were entirely unfamiliar, not to mention the fact that glimpses of the twilit Royal Forest were visible through the windows.

'Aubrey, I hate to break it to you, but the last time I visited your father's office, it was on the other side of the palace.' Aubrey chuckled.

'Father won't be in his office tonight. He's had a long journey, and he brought my mother back from Naxen as well. They'll be in their rooms.'

'Your mother will be there?'

'Yes. She was rather cross that she hasn't been introduced to you yet, and has charged me to rectify this oversight immediately.' Illa bit her lip. 'What's the matter,' Aubrey teased. 'Is our fearless, hot-shot political hero afraid of meeting one harmless old lady?'

'Don't call your mother an old lady,' chided Illa vaguely, before wailing, 'Oh Aubrey! What if she doesn't like me?' Aubrey hastily turned his guffaw into a hacking cough.

'Well, she's spent rather a lot of time in the company of both my father and myself, poor woman. Ergo, our tastes are somewhat similar. She'll love you as much as we do.' Illa shook her head restlessly, as if trying to dislodge a stubborn horsefly, and then became suddenly businesslike.

'Not that it matters,' she said quickly, 'this is a purely political visit, of course; entirely professional.' Aubrey rolled his eyes.

x X x X x

The Naxen rooms, owing to Duke Gareth's elevated position and closeness to the Crown, were rather larger and more elaborately decorated than Illa's own. Meticulously carved and upholstered furniture was scattered at tasteful intervals around the airy chambers, and exotic Carthaki carpets sprawled boldly on the polished marble floor. One wall of the spacious sitting room into which a neat little maid ushered Aubrey and Illa consisted solely of the expansive, graceful arches of floor-to-ceiling windows. And standing in front of these windows, gazing motionlessly outwards as the first chilly stars winked into life over the inky darkness of the Royal Forest, was the unmistakeable figure of the duke. After so many trying times, the very sight of him came as such a relief that it was all Illa could do to refrain from running over and flinging her arms around him. Perhaps Aubrey sensed this, as his immediate reaction was to grasp her tightly around the waist, effectively pinning her to his side.

'Your Grace,' Illa burst out, trying simultaneously to wriggle free from Aubrey's hold and drop a respectful curtsey, 'I'm _so_ glad to see you!'

'Ah,' said the duke absently, casting a somewhat suspicious glance at his son, 'so nice to know that one's presence is appreciated.' Illa coloured visibly, and attempted to subtly sidestep several feet further away from Aubrey. Duke Gareth smiled at her.

'Lady Illinen, I hope you will be amenable to continuing this interview in my study?' Illa nodded, and meekly followed in the direction he indicated. 'Oh, and Aubrey?' the duke paused to call back over his shoulder, 'your mother is in her parlour. She would like to see you.' Aubrey grimaced comically, but obediently turned to scuttle through an adjoining door.'

Duke Gareth's study was an aesthetic masterpiece of dark wood panelling and dark red leather, but despite its general attractiveness, something about it made Illa immediately uncomfortable. It was such a _masculine_ room that she couldn't help but feel like an unwelcome intruder, and was rather overcome by an irrational fear that at any moment she could be chewed up, found wanting, and spat out again. The unfriendly, forward-tilting chair to which the duke motioned her didn't help matters. Duke Gareth seated himself behind an enormous mahogany writing desk, rested his elbows on a stack of papers and surveyed Illa over fingertips pressed tightly together.

'So, my dear,' he began kindly, 'I don't suppose you would mind filling me in on the situation? The correspondence I have received from you and my son over the past weeks, although mind-bogglingly prolific and undeniable in its urgency, has been quite spectacularly uninformative.' Illa raised her eyebrows.

'Confidentiality is the key, Your Grace,' she said chirpily. 'It didn't much matter what we wrote, as long as it wasn't the truth and was perplexing enough to bring you scurrying back to Corus.'

'I don't scurry. It's far too undignified.'

'Beg pardon, Your Grace. I meant "hastening." I assume it's socially acceptable to hasten?'

'Quite,' said the duke, amused. 'But now I really must insist that you-'

'Your Grace,' interrupted Illa quickly, 'before we even begin this meeting, there are some stipulations I must make with regard to its content. Will you hear them?' The Duke looked rather flabbergasted, but nodded gallantly.

'Naturally.'

'I said before that confidentiality was the key,' began Illa. 'Well, it's more than the key. It's absolutely paramount. Can you promise me before I say anything that you will keep whatever I tell you to yourself? Because even though I know you're a powerful man, I don't inform you to prompt any political or military action. It's more of a precaution, so that if,' she hesitated, 'if something goes wrong, at least someone will know why.' She paused, before adding cheekily, 'and to give me a credible defence witness in the event that I am charged with high treason.'

'Illinen of Shadowflax!' exclaimed the duke, clapping a hand to his forehead. 'What on earth have you been cooking up?' Knowing that she had received tacit assurance of his discretion, Illa sketched out for him, in a few concise sentences, the mystery of the _Sjdyrga,_ the encounter with Aengus Brimm, and the cryptic invitation to the next rebel meeting. A moment of stunned silence followed her monologue, before Duke Gareth let out a long, low whistle.

'My dear, I find myself at a loss for words.'

'Then perhaps it would be advisable to say nothing,' ventured Illa cautiously. 'It seems to me that the less anyone says about it, the more likely it is that everything will turn out alright in the end.'

'And how exactly,' asked the duke dryly, 'do you intend upon ensuring that everything "turns out alright in the end"?' Illa smiled engagingly at him.

'I wouldn't want to go around spilling all my secrets now, would I, Your Grace? Besides, nothing's set in stone yet. You know I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of girl.'

'Illinen that is a downright lie.'

'It is, isn't it?' agreed Illa ruefully. She sat up straighter in her uncomfortable chair. 'Your Grace, there is very little I can say with any confidence at all until I have been to that meeting tomorrow. That's partially why I wanted you to be aware of the situation, so that if I have to make a spontaneous decision – which is a fairly likely possibility – and it backfires badly, someone will be able to pick up the pieces. But you can rest assured that if you allow me to do this, I will keep you abreast of any developments.' Duke Gareth's mouth twisted wryly.

'Illinen, you know as well as anyone that I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. I don't like the amount that we have to leave to chance here, and I'm a little worried at the danger that the whole scenario will put you in, but as far as you're concerned, I've learned to expect the unexpected. Furthermore, I've found that in your case, accepting the unexpected without reservation tends to pay off.' Illa couldn't help but smile.

'Is that a compliment, Your Grace?'

'Don't let it go to your head.' The duke picked up the sheaf of papers on his desk and began shuffling then absent-mindedly.

'May I ask you a question?'

'Of course, Your Grace.'

'Have you considered that as a member of this conspiracy, you may be called upon to do more than simply attend meetings and contribute to discussion?'

'I have, Your Grace.'

'Then may I ask what your response would be if you were required to do something which would necessitate taking direct action against the Crown?' Illa took a deep breath.

'Your Grace, this is something that I particularly wished to discuss with you. I know that refusing or hesitating would bring me under immediate suspicion from the rebels, so my gut feeling is that it would be safest to agree to everything enthusiastically, even volunteer for tasks. In the end, it might be smartest, too, because the more involvement I have in their missions, the easier they will be to sabotage.' The duke nodded slowly.

'I agree. And I suppose that's where I come in? To vouch for you if you are caught holding a poisoned dagger behind a curtain in the throne room?' Illa winced.

'You don't mind, Your Grace?'

'Mind?' replied the Duke Gareth, 'I will only mind if my brightest little protégée gets herself needlessly killed.' Illa pulled a face.

'And I thought politics sounded like such a nice, safe career choice!' The duke chuckled darkly.

'Can I ask you one more question?'

'I believe you just did, Your Grace,' quipped Illa.

'That's quite enough of that. I merely wished to enquire as to why you were so insistent upon swearing me to secrecy and going through this whole rigmarole. As you say, I'm a powerful man. Given the information we now possess, it would be almost too easy to attack this meeting and bring down the whole conspiracy.' Illa thought carefully before responding. It was imperative that the duke understand this.

'Your Grace, if we chop down this rebellion, and the revolutionaries are hung or imprisoned, it will not be the end of it. Others will hear of their actions, and be inspired thereby. By granting them infamy, we risk turning them into cult heroes. But more to the point, Your Grace,' she continued, 'I feel it is vital that we know what these people want and stand for before we judge them.'

'My dear,' said Duke Gareth sternly, 'you cannot possibly condone-'

'I do not,' Illa cut in smoothly. 'I do, however, acknowledge that there are flaws in the system as it stands. I object to these people being slaughtered simply because they dared to question the subjugations imposed by the law. Perhaps some sort of compromise might be the best solution for us all.'

'That's rather idealistic, wouldn't you agree, Illinen?'

'Well, someone has to be idealistic,' she retorted, before grinning cheekily. 'Imagine what the realm would be like if we were all as cynical as Sir Nealan, Your Grace!' The duke chuckled.

'I confess the thought is... frightening. Well, My Lady, it seems that your mind is firmly made up. Please come and see me as soon as you return to the palace tomorrow evening. Or Tuesday morning early, if your meeting ends at too indecent an hour. And Illa?'

'Yes, Your Grace?'

'Please be very, very careful. I know a number of people who will be extremely angry with me if I let you get yourself killed, chief among them, myself.' Illa, trying to ignore the traitorous lump in her throat, nodded and rose from her seat.

'Now, said the duke, face relaxing into a smile, 'I suggest you adjourn to the parlour for refreshments. There is a lovely lady waiting there who would like nothing more than to meet you.' Illa was halfway to the door before Duke Gareth called her back.

'Just one last question.' Illa's eyes twinkled.

'Goodness, Your Grace, if we keep going on at this rate, I'm going to have to start charging for interviews!' The duke snorted.

'Illinen, would I be right in supposing that my young, impressionable and relatively useless son will be accompanying you in this endeavour?' To her great consternation, Illa was unable to repress a wild blush.

'Yes, Your Grace.'

'And why, pray, would divulging this particular piece of information cause you to turn such a becoming shade of fuchsia?'

'I couldn't possibly say, Your Grace,' said Illa wickedly, 'I suggest you ask him.'

x X x X x

Despite being the mother of three grown sons, Lady Cythera, Duchess of Naxen, remained astonishingly youthful. Her golden hair had faded to an ashy blonde rather than greying, her cheeks retained a girlish bloom and her slight figure, Illa noted with some envy, was still petite and small-waisted. She presided over the tea table with all the flawlessly cordial dignity that befitted a noble hostess. Illa sat ramrod-straight and uncomfortably silent on a tightly stuffed sofa, resigned to eventually committing the inevitable social faux-pas, but dreading its occurrence nonetheless. Lady Cythera turned to her young guest.

'Lady Illinen, may I enquire as to your tea preference?'

'My tea preference?' Illa was confused. The duchess smiled and elaborated.

'I am something of a tea connoisseur. We drink all sorts here.' She gestured towards a large wooden box that sat on the table, propped open to reveal countless rows of tiny, gauze sachets full of tea leaves, colour-coded according to type. 'As you can see,' she continued self-deprecatingly, now nodding to the shelves lining the room, which housed a crammed collection of tea-sets, both beautiful and bizarre, 'tea-collecting has become rather an all-consuming hobby.' Illa bit back a laugh. Suddenly she felt much more at her ease; the revelation of this eccentricity made the stately duchess identifiable as the sort of woman who could have birthed and raised someone like Aubrey. Illa grinned at Lady Cythera, and was pleased to see an answering flash of kinship in the Duchess' eyes, mingled with a look of slight relief, perhaps at the realisation that the girl of whom Aubrey had spoken in such glowing terms was not as cold and reserved as she seemed on first acquaintance.

'Have you any passionflower tea?' Illa asked cautiously, poking around amongst the multicoloured sachets. The duchess raised an eyebrow, and for a moment looked so much like her son that it was quite unsettling.

'I daresay we do; somewhere. Not in the tea-box, I'm afraid. If you'll forgive my saying so, it's rather unusual to come across someone who drinks it for pleasure rather than purpose.'

'Mother,' drawled Aubrey from his precarious perch on an ottoman tilted unsteadily to lean against the wall, 'you seem to be labouring under the misguided delusion that Illa is normal.' Lady Cythera never noticed the modestly slippered foot which poked out from Illa's skirts and curled around the closest leg of the ottoman, though she could hardly fail to perceive her son's flailing, inelegant plunge to the floor. She made no comment, merely picking up and ringing a small silver bell, but under cover of its melodious trill, Illa could have sworn she heard the trace of a somewhat incongruous giggle.

'I will see what I can do with regards to obtaining some passionflower tea for you, my dear,' said the duchess, 'though I must ask where you acquired such a curious predilection.'

'I visited Sir Nealan of Queenscove in the infirmary one evening with a violent tension headache and a chip on my shoulder about something,' Illa explained. 'I must have been a rather fearsome sight, as our inestimably brave chief healer succumbed immediately to his terror, flung a couple of packets of tea in my general direction, and barricaded himself in the storeroom, muttering something along the lines of 'spawn of the Ysandir.' Lady Cythera laughed in earnest now, but Aubrey winced into his cream-cake. Having been the frequent and relatively innocent victim of Illa's wrath, he harboured a sneaking sympathy for Sir Nealan.

'Anyway,' Illa continued, 'I've been addicted ever since. Every time I go back to replenish my supplies, Sir Nealan calls me a freak of nature, but I know he's just sour that I don't complain about it like all the rest of his patients, thus depriving him of the sadistic pleasure which would doubtless be associated with forcing it down my throat!' Amid the laughter that followed, there was a movement in the doorway as a squire neatly garbed in Naxen colours answered the duchess' summons. It was a moment before Illa recognised Raif in the unfamiliar clothing. Her younger brother – only taken into formal service upon the Duke Gareth's return from Naxen that evening, Illa guessed – grinned and waved excitedly, before seemingly remembering his place and snapping to attention.

'Squire Raif,' said the duchess, with a wink at Illa, 'would you please go to the medicine chest in the linen closet and fetch me some dried passionflower?' Raif hesitated for a moment, looking suspiciously at his sister.

'For Illa's tea?'

'For Illa's tea,' the duchess confirmed. The squire gave a long-suffering sigh.

'My Lady,' he said, 'if you'll pardon my frankness, that stuff's gods-awful. You needn't humour her ridiculous tastes just because she's your guest. Just make her drink something normal for a change. It'll do her good.' Aubrey, shaking with silent mirth, was perilously close to losing his seat again when a voice was heard outside the door.

'Impertinence!' bellowed Duke Gareth, who had evidently heard Raif's sage advice. He grabbed his insubordinate squire by the neck of his tunic, pulled him back into the hallway and pointed him in the direction of the medicine chest, before joining his wife, son and political minion at the tea table.

x X x X x

Several hours later, stuffed full of delicious sweetmeats and warmed by the glow of pleasant conversation, Illa took her leave of Lady Cythera, under solemn covenant to visit again soon. Aubrey, blushing furiously, stammered out his intention to escort her back to her rooms, and Duke Gareth rose to accompany them to the front door of his quarters. When they reached the foyer, the duke paused, leaning wearily on the door jamb. Aubrey, realising resignedly that his father wasn't going to get out of the doorway before he had spoken with Illa, bent down tactfully to retie his bootlace. The duke, who had remained credibly composed during tea, now gripped Illa's shoulder with an urgency that surprised her.

'Illinen,' he said hoarsely, '_you are not a spy!_ How can you do this to yourself?' Illa sighed.

'Because I have to.'

'No you don't. You forget that the politician is a master of delegation. We have the ideas, then we get other people to carry them out.' Illa tilted her chin slightly upwards to face her mentor, mouth set in a determined line.

'Not this time. This is the only way I can serve King and country as well my own conscience, and be assured that I have done my very best by both,' she gave a tremulous smile, 'and I _will_ succeed. There is simply no other option.' With some effort, he returned her smile, but there was concern in his eyes, and it was more than that of an employer for his employee. It was almost paternal. Almost as if he was seeing her not as a junior colleague but as a daughter. Illa cast a startled glance at Aubrey as Duke Gareth patted her kindly on the shoulder.

'So mote it be,' he murmured, '_so mote it be._'

**A/N - **This will definitely be the last chapter until my exams are finished in late November... and I hope you enjoyed it, as I have made grave sacrifices with regards to my English exam prep in order to bring it to you! Goodbye for now, not forever...

Lady Muck xo


End file.
